Confessions

You've gotten  comfortable
with.... the essence of waterfalls
mixed with a vanilla back drop... in Spring
And the flavour sits on the flora of your senses
Popping a fragrance that slithers into your tomorrows

My sorrows have faded
My flesh degraded
But my spirit travels down stream
to sip the nectar of your sentiments
Like cream on snow cones...i want more
i want to be soaked in every blooming moment
to keep the stain on my tongue

it's not fair when....the rain washes me
the seasons...change me
you enter my senses again and again
like the inhale of coloured acquatic deities
and the exhale of instrospection
.....................inhale of order
.....................exhale of affection
.....................inhale of broken breaths
.....................exhale of broken thoughts

I am saddened
As petals in summer
As leaves in winter
As imperfections...and the Tsunami of my tangled world comes rushing in
naturally, by the plate shifts of confusion and selfishness underground
Magma of differences melting the rocks and pebblesof reminisce
and this bliss becomes a mystery

within the tablet of my misery
Why? Why, must you engrave your signature too?
your confessions are epistles on the monuments exposing the death and heroic tendancy of my love
Love given, sacrificed, slapped, ignored and rewarded

I'm afraid
this monument may be too chipped from the weight of 'sentimental calligraphy'
and fail to reflect the significance of my time...

Are You Kenyan?

Tucked, shielded and depleted under a wooden frame

I saw you from a striking distance… too far to recognize the shade of your sculpt and too far to know what you were..who you were...

I sat now……only inches away from you and sensed your soul cry

I sat here…….a million times before but never heard the rhythm of your heart as ‘sweet n slow’ as now, as your days….

A beautiful soul….I can imagine your maker…..his heart buried in your ceramic chest.

If I had one wish; it would be to touch with those hands that made you and I would co write your story on my disk of “surreal moments”…..because… with no face nor feet, you are this and more!

Are you Kenyan?

 Your maker’s heart speaks to me!

Are you Kenyan?

I would choose this day to celebrate your arrival with a popular dish!

I wish! That you would dine with me…..in flesh and bones!

Are you Kenyan?

It disturbs me that you were only stamped with a worthless piece of tape marked with cheap ink!

Are you Kenyan?

The cemented smudge on your left cheek is but a clue of battle….. or… your birth mark…

And Your heart beats a familiar native melody….imprisoned body, but you!…you fetch his free spirit so gracefully!

Are you kenyan?

Because the beautiful jewellery strung around your ceramic neck reminds me of my past

Are you Kenyan?

I want to sit as I am now old ‘n’ grey reciting this poem to my grandchildren and they will  be know you

I will dance to your beat sweet 'n' slow and even though you’re ‘dull and broken’

I will carry your spirit with me… until I’ve drawn the final fibre of my borrowed breath!

Pure Love

Stifled breaths

Toiled in dried dust

That chokes the aorta of my affection

A dozen dots; watch in confusion

A dozen dots; fooled by subtle expressions

Even as the garden of my love withers

The sun weeps

She has no purpose

I weep with her

Sadly, one can’t help the other

It’s a cycle that occurs

Every time I made a bed for a stifled lung

Stifled, to a depth that melts misery    

Stifled, to a certain consciousness

Stifled, to a craft beauty

It happens when saplings miss the dew

When flowers miss the bees

When tree tops quit trembling

When friends mature

It’s official

Comfort is a paint brush

that smears the substance of my wounds on a wall

For the world to see, stare, muse

Only then, I know my fingers were worth the tears

Only then…I’m free…