Dear Lord

Maybe
Deep in the dark of the night
And in every rooster’s crow
Dog’s bark and crane’s call
In every deep laughter
And overfed hunger
Sweat and toil
Struggles
Brilliant smiles and curious stares
Maybe
They have had tones of homes-
Dear Lord
And all they need this time
Maybe
Is one with no walls,
Roofs or doors
But rather a simple sign
Hanging from the branch of a tree reading:

Land rich and fertile, plant dreams here

Maybe.

© Kenyanito.

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Faithful Gentleman

And I know her thirsty self will come back, and I will certainly carry her, a willing passenger on a night train trip to the sindom of pain and pleasure and leave her there panting and hungering for more, for a thousand sins with me and more. . .

You’ve been calling her consistently for the past one hour, and she has been avoiding your calls like plague for all that while. May I add that you’re annoying and irritating, for I have to start all over again.

“Wait, Joe, I think he knows…”
No, of course you don’t know anything. You’re just suspicious,a voice in you afraid to utter out your little insecurities; lest you lose her, or so you think. Poor you!

“Lola, relax, he has no idea, it’s just you and me right now; forget him!” I smirk back, loving the sheepish nod she gives me back.
Two or three kisses later,

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Boy, bye!

 We all wade across life’s streams, not even sure of our return, but hoping to meet somewhere in life’s maze while searching. . .searching for an outlet. Time comes when we have to move on, sometimes not prepared to pack our own, but only abide by nature’s commands.

But why should I believe what you say this time, anyway?”

She had raised her voice a little, protesting against what she thought was an accusation in my voice earlier. I was taken aback, startled by the vehemence of her protest: who was I,

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What Does Happiness Feel Like?

The morning blush’d fiery red: Mary was found in Adulterous bed; earth groan’d beneath, and Heaven’s above trembled at discovery of love.

What does happiness feel like? She asks me. Like warmth,I say.
So you can’t be happy when you’re cold?
She looks confused.
Like simplicity, I explain.
Happiness isn’t ever hard? She asks.
It isn’t ever complex?
Like success, I try.
Like achievement.
Can’t you stay happy in the face of failure? She looks worried.
Like softness, I say.
Like gentleness.
Like a tornado bursting through you,like a volcano erupting.
Happiness,I say,feels like gladness to be alive.
It feels like blanket forts and daisies and sunshine and rainstorms and old books and hidden book stores.
But I’m struggling.

She opens her mouth.
But no,that’s not it,I say.

What does happiness feel like?
She asks,a slightly pathetic note in her question,something between despair and dumb incomprehension.
Like being loved,I tell her,
And she’s finally silent,
weary of all those memories whispering in her skull.
Like loving,I say, and being loved in return.

©Kenyanito.

Morning Mischief

Stubborn as she is beautiful, gets on my nerves, drives me nuts;
Hard to believe, am normally the stubborn one, just for fun though;
She lies next to me, all calm and innocent, I love how warm she is;
Then it hits me, I have to do this; I silently creep out of bed,
“What the…aaaargh! I’ll kill you!”
She’s startled, am running for my life;
The piece of thread is still in my hand, takes her just a second to figure out what was in her ear,
I laugh myself breathless;
Soon knocks me down, pillow to the head, “Ouch!”
Hope she buys that,
Sits on top of me, holds me down, kisses my forehead;
I turn her over, “You started this…,” she smiles, “I know, I like it…,” bites her lower lip, it’s on. . .
An hour, two, back where we started;
She lies next to me and I next to her, everything blurs away, all except our smiles: a glorious morning for a morning glory

©Kenyanito.

A Matatu Sermon

“We fail to grow emotionally because of our cocoons, because we never get reason good enough to get out and face the world, because we fear being broken again, we fear that we might shutter never to rise again…”

Sometimes there’s no greatness in the past, sometimes one would like to hide the past from oneself; and that’s why we all get locked up in our moments, and we all have our cocoons. It gets to a point we all feel the need to stay away from reality for a minute or two, striving so hard to get a temporary solutions to our problems, something that will preoccupy us- it could be drugs, tears, sex, talking too much, being in a dark room, see, so many ways work for different people, you just get to choose your poison…” He paused as

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Wind Catcher

Have you ever tried to catch the wind?
Perhaps launched a kite on a passing breeze?
Or trimmed your sails to harness the swirling air currents?
Perhaps used chimes or catchers to detect its presence?
Or point out its direction?
Did they contain it?
Was the pursuit meaningful?
Completely satisfying?
Was the chase successful?
Was it tangible?
Tell me, oh tell me
Have you ever tried to catch the wind?
But did you honestly catch the wind-
Or did it catch you?

©Kenyanito