Shhhh, listen.

It has been a while.

A moment alone,

To think of how in life,

We fall, struggle, cry,

But never should we give up,

For an ox keeps pulling the plough,as long as it’s eyes are open and it’s legs strong.

So here is to the things we say, never give up, try, crawl but never give up.

The words we say, but do we listen?


Judge me not.

I reminisce on my stories,
Because it’s this magical place,
I feel the embrace of the stars,
And the warmth of the creation I make,
So if I write of a beauty of the skies,
If I make my stars hot and the sun cold,
If I dance to the silent music,
Don’t judge,

For I have a gift to tell tales of truth, and those of lies, they have known a beauty more captivating than that of the horizon.

Queen of words.I reminisce on my stories,
Because it’s this magical place,
I feel the embrace of the stars,
And the warmth of the creation I make,
So if I write of a beauty of the skies,
If I make my stars hot and the sun cold,
If I dance to the silent music,
Don’t judge,

For I have a gift to tell tales of truth, and those of lies, they have known a beauty more captivating than that of the horizon.

Dear friend, look what they are making me do.

The whispers tell me, Of how good you are to me, They say that I should feel the butterflies, Smile when we touch, Their excitement of you excites me, They think of you as I wait on you, With rosy cheeks and a glowing heart, It’s the whispers who said, That’s how a friend should make you feel.

It’s the whispers that lied to me, That our crazy chats are rare, They envy our closer ,great friends they say, Bad whispers, now I can’t tell you of you, That am falling for you , You who belongs to another, But only the whispers know, Is it not their fault?

The whispers know you are scared, Of the sparks you feel, Of what I may make you feel, But we’ll never hurt the other, I won’t let you, I won’t let the whispers, And you’ll never know of my butterflies, Of how deep am falling.

The whispers say, I should tell you of them, When we hold hands, As you tell me of your troubles, As I tell you of my fears, You’ll say, “I’ll never leave you friend, ” As I say, ” I got you, oh sweet friend ” I may tell you of the whispers, What they are making me do, It is the whispers I blame, For this beautiful kind of pain.


The dark queen. 👑

They say am a little Gothic,

Strange you see,

That I have a cold stare,

My eyes see through them,

Through their veins and their bad blood,

A queen whose crown is Embroided with dry bones,

She that feeds of darkness,

They know I sit on a ice cold throne,

That I am a cold stone,


But hey,

What’s so Gothic about the smell of their fears,

A stench of their trembling souls,

A taste of their Sour tears?

What’s so Gothic about my love for black,

Of the dead feelings that I harbour,

Of the cold and the dirty mind,

My addiction for the dreadful beats,

So what that I dance in the tombstones and arise when the dark arises,

That I outrun the monsters and dance better than the spirits,

That they tremble at the sight of me, her awesomeness,

That I can walk when all fall,

It ain’t my fault that darkness is afraid of me?

Story of a day with a friend

FRIEND. Story of a day with one with the eyes of a dove, Of a day we held each others hands and told of stories, Stories of friends drowned by the same river, I felt your pain as you told of her that broke your heart, I saw the anger when I told of he that lied to me, I said I didn’t wanna fight it alone anymore, You said you were breaking down, I cried that I needed a home in someone, You screamed out your desire to reach out to someone, I laughed for being silly and worrying much, You laughed of the texts I send him in my desperate times, We screamed of how we hated them, Of how we were to let go, we then laughed for it was a lie, I said I would find you in the dark, You said I wasn’t alone anymore, With a promise to not give up on each other, We knew we had found friends in each other, A home for our Lost souls. You said I did over think most times, So I did, What if it was just you and me, Would we get hurt, lose each other? Would we break each other, we of good hearts? Would we hate each other like we did them? We that understood the pain of yearning for a touch of the stars so high? We that knew not to break but to create. Or did we make better friends than we did anything else? A story of a day with one whose lips are like lilies. Story of a day with a friend finer than any gold, One with a heart so golden, and enchanting presence. one I would never lose. A friend.


It was a stranger that left a mark,

This one we bled from the same scars,

His tears like mine had dried up,

Two lost children of the world,

And in my dark cold nights,

My reminisce was of his warm touch,

Deep breathes and the deep stare, 

We swam and tasted of the sweet waters,

The waves and the wind become our muse,

We made music from the sound of our dark hearts,

The good souls turned cold become beautiful master piece,
This stranger, 

He was a god and my dreams were of a goddess,

Its in the night that i felt alive,

I danced with his ghost

Played with his shadow,

I kissed his vapour,  

If only to forget my pain, 

To see one like me, to know i lived in another,
The dream of a stranger that i knew,

He that our thoughts weren’t mutual,

Busting my bubbles, crushing my castle,

I shed tears for this my beloved, 

Beloved do you know of a pain ,

Of one that was never yours?
It was a stranger that left a mark,

I dream of his cuddles if only to comfort,

A heart that lost which  it never had.



How much more hurt?

How many more times do i sow you back,

And tear up after a broken luck? 

If i am to run, run with me,

Don’t  be smart, work with me,

Ain’t  you done breaking ? 

Ain’t  you done bleeding ?

Strongest of all organs,

Oh mother of my feelings,

Oh lover of all,

 Over and over  disappointed,

But forever loving,

Look beyond the sweethearts,

But be one sweet heart,

Hey keeper of my pain,

Do we love but in vain? 

Dance on fire no more,

Sing songs of freedom, 

Chant not of love,

For are we not done counting stars,

Dreaming of a dead paradise 

Oh heart,

Lover of my being? 


Dead alive.


Pushed to an early end,

Eaten esteem,

Swallowed pride,

Crushed faith,

Disappointed soul,


Of one in his hope,

Trusted too much,

Gave too much,

Fell, crushing much,

On his self,


Of a once  hero, 

Of Gone glory,

Battered fame,

Lifted shame,



Of a living warrior,

Forgotten savior,

All alone,

Cold as stone,

In sorrow,


Lost love

 I share my desire to you,

You who is bold enough to tell of his feelings, 

How i wish it could be you, 

It is she in the mirror who doesn’t want to let go,

But i want to share my feelings with you,

But how do i when i am so de

ep in the wrong one,
The day i met you, 

You say a simple hi took your breathe away, 

But you, so warm, yours charmed my heart,

Laughing at your every word, i become lighter,

Face brighter,  the thought of you, keeping me at bay,

On and on waiting for our talks, a charming stranger couldn’t let my heart be.
One who knows what to say, tell me am i wasting time in the wrong situation? 

How good you fill my world, i feel kinda way,

Could you just be here? Say i deserve better,

And his arms on thy hands will feel wrong.
If i am to say,

Instead of she in the mirror taking control,

It would be, i love every second with you,

I am your little miss perfect, it feels good knowing you’d never let me down,

Why am i caught up in a web, entangled with a demon,

With a dream to be free, come rescue me, 

Then it wouldn’t be love in the wrong place.


I watched as they worked, so hard, hoping to make a difference, the children at their backs, task after another, they cared not of the scorching sun, of walking barefoot, of breaking down while at it they had to work. if only someone understood their pain, the agony they had to go through, most of them were married, for love you think? No, but to them they had no choice, they had to think of their children, of what the society dictated, behind closed doors they whispered, talking of the useless men they had married, of how tired they were of the beatings, of not being appreciated, of how hard they worked to please those men, but yet, they were just women, to cook, to care, to give birth, to beat, to use, to amuse, just women. 

  A week since I arrived to this beautiful valley, I had finally agreed to visit my friend, I taught her of the city life, its time I learn how to winnow, she said. She had warned me of how ignorant the people were around here, of enlightenment, of change, moving forward I called. After arrival, we had taken a walk through maize plantations, all excited for this place was a wonder, the shock I had on meeting Sarah, soaked in tears, the twelve year old had blood all over her dress, she couldn’t move, it took time to convince her to tell us what had happened to her, how could a leader in a society molest one in his care? I understood not  how the father of such a poor soul would get goats as a payment for such damage, her poor mother was beaten for threatening to go to the police, Sarah had sought solitude at the maize plantation, good thing we arrived when we did, we took her to hospital, on speaking about it, my friend was condemned for talking back to her elders, for trying to change the way things were, the city life had corrupted her they said and her prostitute friend had come to infect the valley of her rotten ways, what parent allowed a girl to the city, she is just a woman, they said. 

 What a village, being a woman was a weakness one is born with, a man was a man depending on how many boys he had, I heard of a woman who was forced to another man to bear a son for the man she married, she did give him a son and yet the problem was her? Poor species, wife inheritance was bad enough, but the way women were treated around here, it was one to cry for, they were no better than a donkey, to work and be fed on grass. They would work to feed their children, and their drunken husbands, this is after washing off the urine and dirt they brought home, after a drinking spree, bragging on how they put their women to their place. Forcing themselves on their women was a way of things, ordering for food with no appreciation, of the burnt fingers, of the Smokey smelling hair, of the cracked feet, of the poor wrinkled face, of the abuse they took, the threat to be taken back to their mamas house, of the pain they endured for just being women.  

Its no wonder they cooked with the Smoke filled  firewood, to cry when no one noticed, yet if they spoke of gender violence, of how victimized they felt, of how they needed just a little appreciation, of how they wanted to be heard, of how they would rejoice in seeing their daughters educated and not married off, but then would that not make them hard headed? So I watched them work, scared of what fate awaited them, they had to survive a day, then another, I feared for them, for their children, feared for my friend, how could she bring up  children here? The female ones would grow feeling unworthy with the male feeling superior and inconsiderate, should I say with no respect? Not even to their mothers. I looked at them, all calling for help but with their eyes, then I missed my father, my brothers missed the men I saw in the city carrying flowers for their women, I missed the men that knew how to respect women, the men who supported their women to push harder in their career, the men who cooked for their ladies just to appreciate them, I missed those men I saw applauding when a woman won, I missed the men that saw progress, victory, that saw power when a woman stood. I missed the men that saw no gender; to them it was not just a woman.

  Just a woman, one that gave life to a man, a pure soul full of love, but to the not enlightened, she is a slave, an item to be owned. One to be possessed, adored, criticized, played with, a voiceless figure, to applause in silence when a man achieves, but did you know she can be more, more than just a woman?