Gracias Rabbana

Gracias Rabbana, nashukuru Abba Father!
I can't hold these thank yous any longer,
and in all humility I'll approach no other.

Gracias Rabbana, my heart throbs enough for me to write this alive.
Gracias Rabbana, my mind still perceives tomorrow in all its intentions.
Gracias Rabbana, my soul still respires to your breath and my spirit accords.

I thank you. Because many a time I haven't.
I have dived deep into moments without reflecting back
to even silently whisper a thank you.
I thank you. Because I've grown to realize life.
I have developed a consciousness only you would grant
in all its abundance as I sought after it.
I thank you. Because you've decorated my life
anointed my steps and blessed the works of my hands.
I thank you. Because there's so much I'd utter right now
that would look so minute in your even greater and bigger eyes.

Gracias Rabbana! You know me too well!
You know when I fault, you see when I stumble.
You've seen the mess I am and the struggles I couldn't overcome.
You've seen the paths I've taken and the roads I couldn't advance.
You've seen the foods I ate and the strange ones that choked me.
You've seen the games I played and the tournaments I lost.
You've seen it all, Rabbana, you've been aware of my actions, all along!

Gracias Rabbana! It is you who sees no fault in weakness
when we run to you for strength.
It is you who sees beyond my conceit and that which I'm vain in when it's always been your grace.
It is you who looks beyond my helplessness in my dire time of need because you're hope itself.
It is you who distinguishes that which I do good and there where I slip, the author and finisher of my faith.
It is you who knows when I am supposed to be grateful,
and I know it's all the time.. so,
Gracias Rabbana!

I'll lift up your banners, graffitied all over with your fulfilled promises.
I'll declare "Gracias Rabbana" in the secrets of my chambers
and even conspicuously overt in public if I have to.
I'll humble myself and uplift the undying grace you've had over me.
I'll listen to the humming of our busy lives and create a
thank you song for all you've done.
The children will sing it, the youth will echo it,
the old man will believe it and the old woman will dance in your favour.
I'll chant your praises in the morning and in the shadows of the night,
and choirs will sing in the background as they hymn your praises
saying;


Gracias Rabbana!

Fake world, Fake people

I say fake world, I say fake people,

because we are real but unreal.

We believe in our realities

and doubt possibilities.

We dream to achieve,

but hope to receive, without working for it.

See, they smile in your face,
but are quick to replace,
love with hate, when you are late
on your promises.
We dwell on premises,
the same premises, with our nemesis.
From the beginning of time;
Genesis, we've learnt that,
not all that glitters is gold,
we're told, not every story unfolds,
the way it's told.

We spice things up, we're nice, in person,
twice worse in our confines.
We hate you when you're alive,
but die with you in tears,
when you are in your coffins.
We are stubborn, from the day we're born,
we are vulnerable, until we are gone,
so we learn to be fit, wear suits that fit,
for survival is not for the prettiest, yes,
this race is meant for the fastest.

That's why many are quick to fake to look the part,
to play the part, to seem the fittest.
And I detest the fact that we were born here,
it's clear, everyday, that we are full of fear.
We say what people want to hear,
we have become people pleasers.
We come to the dinner late,
to miss the appetizers,
we eat junk, lost souls serving us free pizza,
because the system has subjugated us.

We are broke,
and most of us broken.
We are tied behind technology, so they can feed off of us,
we are fake because we choose not to,
we are born this way.
Fake till it seems normal,
learn the etiquette to seem formal,
we are learning to grow more,
without having to stumble.

May you, oh Lord, guide us on our feet,
in the right paths, with the right math,
until we get home. Fake world!

Halima, Halima

"Halima, Halima!" she called out.
"These clothes won't wash themselves!"
she added!
and Halima had to wake up.
The lines of people at the well
by chance she got there late,
would not have her clothes
washed and on the drying lines
by the gate, by the time the sun goes down.
So she puts on her torn cardigan,
quickly fetches the jerrycans
and runs to the well.
Well, this is her life, everyday,
unlike her brothers,
who will not need to learn,
no, not in the walls of a classroom, but,
the ways of a woman,
expecting marriage by the young age of 14.

She sighed, as she stepped outside,
and walked by the side,
as was expected of every woman;
while looking down, not to lock eyes with that of a man.
The morning breeze kissed her beautiful face
and reminded her of herself,
who she craved to be in the moonlight.
The star she yearned to become
was wrapped up in dirty clouds
full of vengeful lightning and thunder.
She was scared of herself
more than the society that
tried to shepherd her into its ways,
its old ways of doing things.
She was afraid she would conform
and cease to grow.
She was afraid she'd never be
as educated as her three brothers.
And that's why every dusk, when the cattle
her father owned, as dowry,
from two previous early marriages of her sisters,
came back to the rest to rest
from the green pastures on the slopes near Elementaita
signifying the arrival of night,
she served food to her brothers
and in generous amounts,
so as they slept soundly,
she'd sneak their books out
in the faint flickering light
of a candle and try to learn.

No school for girls,
no education to the society.
See, a lamp covered
is no source of light.
A flower blooming in the dark
loses the color of its petals,
and the vibrance of the green in its leaves.

Educate a girl-child and you water
a dying species of a tree.
Educate the girl-child and you quench
the thirst of a parched nation, a thirsty nation.
Educate the girl-child and you increase
the waters in a sickly trickling stream,
which can now carve a way of its own
and explore the world.
Educate the girl-child and you save
the world.

Halima, Halima,
I'm proud of you, Halima!

Will you remember me?

I walked in the glory radiated from your claps.
My feet on carpets I'd never dreamt of, perhaps,
only in my wildest imaginations.
Fascinations of the human brain,
I am lost in its calculations
and my audience, seeks to keep listening,
to keep believing, to keep loving the life they be living.
So as to charity, my words I'll keep giving,
the pounds, I'll keep receiving,
these blows in the ring, for some reason, just keep me asking;
         will you remember me?
And the days in the shadows are no longer my testimony,
for I've seen the good life and tasted its money,
I've dined and wined in ridiculously high places,
seen and talked to ridiculously fine faces,
and I know it was just a period I was stuck in my defences,
sitting on the fences,
stuck between the right and the wrong
while I was right, all this time!
         will you remember me?
Shock on all these pretentious faces, for once gone, we're stuck in past tenses,
we lose our senses, and it makes sense because we choose
our own life sentence. Our life is drafted when we are born,
and we are the Chief editors. Each article goes through your hands
and you get to fine-tune it. You are your own creditor.
& inasmuch as nothing is promised, you are your own guarantor.
Lead public lives in the privacy of your insanity, and this., I call this: vanity.
          will you remember me?
So if I died today, would you remember a story I edited?
Will you receive the amount I credited you with,
the thoughts I provoked in your calculative minds,
the smiles I elicited from your manipulative souls?
And I cry not, not because tears fail me,
no, not because fear derails me,
but because we are servants of the now, and the now just passed.
           will you remember me?

Mama pray for me

They are like a soothing massage,

good music to the soul.

They are frighteningly comforting 

and offer a healing hospital beds can not,

a feeling only success knows.

I liken them to a hidden compass in within us,

that finds us when we are lost

and guides us when we are confused.

They are like a blanket to us,

to keep us warm while the night owl howls,

and to cover and protect us from 

the wearies of the night.

They're like a book with pages full of wisdom,

an understanding of the literature of our minds.

They are like a key to doors closed before us,

that silently urges us to keep trying,

to never quit.

They are like the best well-kept secret 

to a fulfilling life, and no, 

I'm not talking about the holy grail,

the Philosopher's stone or something we can't find,

I talk and speak of Mama's prayers.

They grow you when you're young,

feed you when hunger strikes,

they quench the thirst in your pursuits,

and offer sound reasoning in your doubts.

Because when Mama prays, everything falls into place.

She understands your being as she is the reason for it,

she loves you with an understanding to a life she is part of,

she's cared for you before and knows your worth.

She has seen you cry, she knows what you've feared before,

she's seen you at your best and at your worst,

she knows what winning is to you and what losing can do to you,

and most importantly, she's done it before,

she's prayed for you so many times before.

That's why I want you to pray for me Mama.

I want the fragrance of your prayers to speak for me,

I want the emotions you so easily express to speak on my behalf.

I need to feel the reassurance of your words as you speak favour upon my life.

I want to know you still believe in what I can achieve,

I want to know you still see that shine in me,

I want to know you're still grateful for this far we've come,

I want to know you still pray and magic happens;

Mama pray for me.

Pray for me and it'll wash clean my car

and grease up the engines in my life.

Pray for me and it'll clean up my room

that is full of doubts, confusions and unpreparedness,

all scattered on the floor.

Pray for me and it'll do the laundry,

for my clothes are full of dirt and shame,

mistakes and ignorance I picked up

growing up in this world you brought me into.

Pray for me and it'll do my chores,

it'll get the heavy job done for me.

It'll set me back up on the trail to my destiny.

It'll breathe fresh air back into my lungs

and cleanse me of all impurities I've inhaled.

Pray for me and restore me onto the right track, mama.

I run a race that needs your blessing,

bless me with a prayer, mama.

You will always be special to me,

even when am far and away,

in journeys only the walls of your prayer room know,

I'll remember of the nights you spent awake for me,

I'll treasure the prayers you taught us

before we could stand for ourselves,

I'll remember you prayed and I'm here,

you prayed for me before you even had me,

and I'll remember even in pain you prayed for rain,

when we cried out hunger, you prayed for food,

when we did things wrong, you prayed for wisdom.

You prayed for everything,

and we live today because on your knees,

you prayed for our well-being.

I want you to pray for me, mostly because,

God hears you better,

and you know this better...

Mama, pray for me.

50 shades of black

They say "Ambition is priceless"
I say "There's always a huge price to pay for a dream"
"I have a dream" so said Martin Luther King,
"Join the team and wake up" I now reply..
Why? Because you've been sleeping too long.
Your nights are longer than your days
it plays, that you speak so much but dwell in inaction.
Action's a remedy,
to faults in a system,
We've forged into comedy,
so people could listen,
and silently laugh about our problems,
as if to make things better.

We've covered a toxic wound,
a cancer that won't stop growing.
& the joke's on us.
Because the bills keep flowing,
our shame keeps showing,
our boat of insecurity keeps rowing
and that's why the blunts keep rolling..
For higher learning, I guess,
because we now seek approval.
The higher the pay-check,
the lower your standards, disapproval.
The higher they rise,
the lower they fall, pride.
The higher the grades,
the easier it is to see why you really won't get hired.

I'm tired. Are we all wired to think the same?
I think there's a fault in our stars,
yeah, literally.. our superstars.
Because they rap about bad bitches,
and that's our fucking problem.
They don't educate us,
no. We are simple souls lacking edumacation.
We are finished at higher learning, gradumacation.
There's a fire that's not burning, no gratification.
A degree to make me normal
and then there's no more?
A degree to show off
but not at a job interview?
See, we view things differently now:
We've lost sight of all that matters,
We are blind to you haters,
not knowing that our friends are the ones who actually hate us.
You disguise to accuse,
victimize yourself to abuse us,
our rights.

Why am I afraid,
why aren't you my friend?
Aren't you supposed to serve and protect?
Or does that mean you serve me with bullets
and protect yourself from my wisdom, the truth??
Reasons? Prisons are overflowing,
filled to the brim..
See they say a society deprived of young men,
is deprived of leaders.
For readers, you're aware that we follow to lead.
But who are we following?

The internet's a mess,
a bile of disgrace,
apply to impress..
We've been put out of place and enclosed in a space,
full of boundaries, so we can stand on our feet
yes, but can't really stretch.
Oppression has been our cup of tea,
we sip it, we drink it..
but that's none of their business..
even though they make money out of it.
I'm out of it. Yeah. Space for breathing. Air.
They're choking me,
"I can't breathe"
images I've seen on T.V haunting me, I'm sorry.
"Don't shoot" the black equivalent to "Good morning Officer"

We get head but don't use it,
we get jobs and end up blowing it.
If Steve Jobs was alive,
he would tell you to reinvent.
An apple a day keeps the doctor away,
and biting at technology
one tweet at a time,
one update at a time,
one picture at a time,
shall we, reinvent ourselves,
our ideologies,
or shall we, chain ourselves?
Racism, modern day slavery.


50 shades of black,
the title of this piece,
is not of romance,
to ideologies that have imprisoned us.
50 shades of black
the name of this token
is not a fragrance
to our pungent stink of oppression
and through expression,
I hope 50 shades of black
will resonate in your minds,
even up to 50 years from now
to see that, a shade is not indifference,
but a blend of difference.
That defence is not the sure way to win a match,
and that pretence won't serve it's sentence,
to a full-stop, yes.. not until the fool in us
stops, screaming for attention,
because no one has ears for the dumb
no protection.. those who can't speak.
Those who can't talk for themselves.
50 shades of black is a call to unite,
to fight, to rewrite history,
not in violence but through spaces like these,
where we challenge our thinking,
question our drinking,
to drown our problems,
and face them head on.
50 shades of black is us, you and me.
50 shades of black is not primitive,
50 shades of black is not discriminative.
50 shades of black is what we will fabricate to
educate each one of us,
that united we stand
and divided we have fallen before,
and will keep falling, if we don't stop crawling.
50 shades of black is a calling.
Ladies and gentlemen, pick up the phone,
50 shades of black is calling.
Thanks!

Painted clouds

Painted clouds, powdery snow,

you know I love you.

When your love skips a meal,

my heart skips a beat.

You know, like a broken record.

A mile through this race,

you've already broken records.

You've set me up for a lot,

am deprived of certainty.

I love you.

And I think it's in the way you honestly blinked

when you looked at me.

Or the way your lips innocently touched

every time you'd smile at me.

Maybe it's the fragrance in your breathe 

whenever you spoke of my perfume.

I love you.

Not like a fat kid loves his cake, no.

Not that type of love.

I want to have you but not finish you.

Like, that silently hidden well

that oft not dries.

You are love's best kept secret.

They have loved not,

those who haven't loved you.

They have hated life 

those who have felt ill towards you.

I love you.

You've cured my ill,

you've lured me into your fill.

I'm intoxicated in your drunkedness 

of beauty, as you swim in it.

You swim in grace,

you walk in your glory.

You're everything that breathes for me, life,

you're the air I breathe.

And if you don't like them grey,

or boring white..

I'd still love you to choose,

if you'd want me green with envy for your love,
or red, the colour of fire and blood,

or just blue, your favourite colour of me.

Whichever your heart of treasures desires.

Paint me to the rhythm of 

your melodious voice,

and to the colour of

your favourite lipstick and nail polish.

Paint me your bed sheets' colour 

and roll up in me.

Find comfort in my arms

as I have in your stare.

Your gaze, your beautiful eyes.

The way you look at me,

I love it.

I love you.

And as you embark to paint,

let it symbolize my place in your life,

as I will colour your world.

Let me give you peace of mind

and a burning desire

for there's passion in your voice.

You speak to me like you own me,

I like that.

I love you.

So paint me now, paint your cloud,

whether you paint me calm, or paint me loud,

I will shower you with all you want,
just how you want it.

I'll rain my love all over you,

in the colour you so easily desire.

Paint me high up where I am,

and I will come down into your bosom.

I love you.

Painted or not,

I love you.