Baraka Lines

   Dear future wife, It is with a joyful heart I write to you without any idea of whether you will read or not. That won't stop me from writing because initially writing is my thing. I would have written a book to tell you this but I realized that I might end raising false hopes for some. Ergo, I'll cut the long wiggling tail short and head straight to my issue like a thunderbolt. Life is an interesting experience but of late I have been thinking what interest will you come with. I have grown so fond of writing love stories and poems, not forgetting the beautiful ladies I dedicate poems to and feature their mouthwatering photos on my blog. Well, I'm not trying to tell you what I'm doing but trying to give you a heads up of what lays ahead of you. When I will ask you the golden question, believe me, I wouldn't mind if you hesitate for a moment. I am a risk you won't afford to engage with without risking a lot, please forgive I'm a nuisance and not hoping

My literary ambitions are mixed up with feelings of being isolated and undervalued. I know I have a facility for words and a power of facing unpleasant facts and situations, and I feel that I’ve created some sort of private life in literature in which I can get my own back for my failures, especially academically, in my everyday life. I do not only report to others but also to myself first and foremost. I like the communication aspect of writing since it gives me a ‘somewhat’ safe platform to question the authority, societal rules, culture and identity.  I write not only to find a way into the world but also to hold it away from me so that sheer, senseless events would not devour me. I usually feel this powerful adrenaline rush and if I am in bed, I jump out and reach for my ever present pen, a paper and my old flashlight in order to pen down my sentiments. As most writers have sagely implied, during that compulsive state of inspiration, I replica a pregnant woman in labour pains

It was war, everything was a flaw, Blood was graffiti on the walls, painted on the floor, The cut-throats were many, The timid casualties were many, The sound of gunshots tore into the rowdy night, Disturbing my restless sleep every night, The soldiers’ wails were high, And death seemed to be nigh. I was fourteen, blameless, Hapless, The war snailed my development pace, Hopeless, My education was cared for less, I, a victim of circumstances, Helpless! My father’s head was chopped off, My mother’s ears were chopped off, And when I turned fifteen, I was parentless, so the army took me in, I didn’t resist, couldn’t resist, I had seen how they slaughtered, those who did desist.  On the battle ground, the frontline I was placed, “Fight for our freedom”, that’s what the general said, A gun in hand, a grenade in hand, I was fighting, for a course that was ‘grand’ Boom! The explosions were many, Khainga died, Wanjala! They all lay with many, And the gritty bul

If you  truly created muntu, If you truly want me, to lend mine umbrella ears to you.                                  If you’re really wonderful and good,  If you truly want me,  to slaughter a bull sacrifice for you.   If you really provide curd for my lame ewe, If you truly want me, To worship thee omnipotent one, Then do these my pitiful god; Make the sun to shine during the moonless nights,                        so that the night runners cease disturbing me,                   Make my bearded he-goat a gorgeous donkey, so that I won’t trek to Daraja Mbili market, Make our phlegmatic village chief a castrated bull, to be gored in the upcoming bullfight, Make my neighbor Mochama’s daughter gorgeous, a moon goddess for me to revere, Make my corrugated barns magnificent palaces, for me to cohabit with my dozen of wives in. If only you did these my pious gods,  If you granted my wishes,  I’ll lis

Lately  I learnt power and strength are not the solution or answer to some vital and  crucial situations. This was practically juxtaposed because I was the victim. This morning, I went to the bush to cut SOMETHING, I used my strength and power to cut one particular small tree but it was just returning my cutlass back to me like it fortified itself against my sharp cutlass. I got furious and added more strength, I discovered I was just wasting time. Then I came back to my senses because I was already feeling the pains in my hand. I decided to cut it slowly and steady and I discovered my cutlass gave it a perfect and good mark. I repeated that thrice and the tree was already down on the floor. I was so astonished at how everything happened like I was on a trance. This is just how some of our lives are patterned. We want to use strength and power to get or achieve everything, forgetting that wisdom and knowledge is the principal everything. If mosquito has ever  bite  you on