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?

The story of a crying soul.

She looked down from the place she was standing, a place of salvation she said, her life had been full of thorny roses, they had pricked her fingers but the blood drop created no snow, it was a jump from fire to fire with no cooling fan, there was no sign from God that every hardship she had endured was going to be over, she had let her hope and trust guide her all through trying not to let her fears rule her. She always knew a part of her was weaker and in doubt of what her purpose was, so today she had made her choice, a choice to forget everything and maybe experience the promised paradise, a chance to forget all her sorrows, all the pain and to give her eyes a chance to rest for had her tears not threatened to go extinct? She had waited for that light to shine bright if only for a moment, but darker and darker it got. One with no  story, no meaning, with just one choice she dressed on her best, went to her fantasy tower, at the top floor, spread her arms and even at the moment she wished for that light, eyes closed, she freed her heart, let go of her fears, up from the ground, flying to freedom. Not a voice to applause, to comfort, to warn her, she felt alone, like it had always been, but only now she had hope of a good place, a better mystery.  Pain had been her story; she was from a little village from the tribe of the people of journey that was what her mother had told her, for her tribes men had been known for walking long distances either for trade, search of water, or other errands. Her mother was a wise one, she had treated her and her siblings like queens and kings, her father was the drunken king, rich yes, but poor in morals, he only loved his wife and cared not for the bastards she had brought home, that is what he said. The old man had kept telling her how useless she was, she had ignored him at first but with time, she began to believe in his words, when her mama died, her world was blown apart, her pain more real than it had ever been. She wished it would stop, she wished the sun would shine brighter or just finally set, but no, only her moon grew darker and her nights longer, it was not stopping.  She always had been empty, with a longing for someone to fill the emptiness she felt, year after year she had endured her father’s abuse and the society demoralizing her, killing her confidence, a part of her knew she could do better, but how could she start? she had no dreams of a paradise, the days she had gone without food, the days she felt not pretty, the days she had slept out on the cold for fear of her father abusing her, the pain she had to endure so that her siblings would live a better life, all her pain and sorrows had taken all the joy she saw in her dreams, she only saw of monsters and demons. She, who was full of wonders, if only someone looked at her and saw that face, the face that knew of love, compassion, the face with the zeal to live, the face of victory, not the devastating desperate, disgusting face, not that ugly face.  so up she was to fly away from all the monsters and the demons that tormented her, to freedom, to songs of victory and comfort, to the arms of what awaited her, unknown to her was a prince watching, he who the terror of this world had shaken the good out of him, he that the world had given two faces, one to lure and one to devour, he had seen one like him but  in the verge of giving it up, this was a familiar occurrence to him, he had to punish or help this helpless girl, the kind that he knew needed help, so help he was to offer. He noticed the tears she wasn’t aware of, he saw the pain, with a sneer in his heart, disgust in his head, hate settled at the bottom of his stomach, excitement in his eyes and compassion in his face, he stretched his arms to save this tormented bird as she was about to fly, right on time, he pulled her to his arms and with a calm voice, he said,” there now, it’s all over.”  A voice, it is all what the crying soul thought of. A savior. Not aware of the awaiting terror.

Tear drop

So i couldn’t write, for my mind was blur and my eyes were blinded by tears,

My words were at pain for it was their desire that was met by a cold stare,

It is of good they spoke, of love they cried but silence they got. The heart was at limbo, the place it went not to feel, its habit to feel so deep and get disappointed yet keep feeling, weaker than the spirit wanted, for the spirit was filled with the hope that all was well, but then the body was in doubt, was it not that over and over it had journeyed through the same path, but then hope.

So my hands couldn’t write, for the mind was scared of expressing that which it felt, for it is by the words written that most desired to stay far from the body, for this vessel spoke of its mind, few would stand that.  The thoughts were mistaken at times, seeing smoke where there ain’t no fire but the inner self knew of some truth, for is it not words and actions that go together? 

The unspoken words louder than the dead actions, but of hope my spirit was. Determined to not let go to hold on a little longer, if only for a change, so my spirit hoping for the butterflies to rekindle, for the fire to not die, for a prove that it was cared for. For action, it was too early to give up, but then the  crocodile has never gone to a fight without its tail. This  journey you just cannot tour alone.

So it was the hope when am tired, when torn and beaten, when in doubt, when wrong, when my feet wouldn’t walk no more, when i feel like a burden, when i feel like am being let go, the voice would always be there to say, ” i care, i love, am to pick you up, lets keep moving,  we are gonna be fine, above all am not letting you go.”

So i couldn’t write, but a friend said, “Make it an inspection and instead of expressing with tears, convert em to words” so i wrote a parable. I hid it for one who understood, to say of a desire, apologetic of a me that was undesirable, but aware of the me worthy of a queens treat. I wrote with the desire to know, just what the heart felt, for i couldn’t  write.

Dance of sin.

Salvation to most people is, staying away from sin. We are born of sin but it is by the redemption of the blood of the lamb that we are made new,of no sin. Desire as the bible says gives birth to sin which in return results to death, though the products of sin maybe rewarding for a while, whatever is got  of sin whithers and just like dust disappears without a trace. 

Sin is a pest that out of desire you invite in, it pleases you, eats you slowly with a smile to a point you get soaked in so deep, then your thoughts become one of a lost sheep, one that thinks its beyond redemption, a walking corpse. So to sin you dedicate your body and destroy your soul. 

To shear a sheep you have to give it lots of food. todays Christianity can be viewed so, in sin you get more, and more you want, the devil gives you lots of food, you grow big and so are those around you,then a time for shearing his sheep comes, and you become one with the lost, awaiting slaughter.
There is no extend to what sin can make us do. Look at the story of Herod and John the baptist,it is out of the desire to call people to the gospel that John questioned  Herod about marring  Herodia his brothers wife.  That was all kind of sin from sexual sin, to perverting to hatred, for you cannot tell me Herod’s brother took it lightly, it went  as far as to murder in the most in human way.

How long had Herodias wanted John out of her way? The erotic dance then, presenting itself to her,do you think the devil had no hand in that? That conniving lier knows well to present a good opportunity , you think he doesn’t  know  what you love? If its money he shows you where to steal, come to sex he provides lots of chances , ladies keep coming your way,men shower you with praises, the devil knows well how to haunt, he then blinds you from the truth making them that enlighten you the enemies, they become church people, pretenders, judges, when all they simply do is call you to the truth.

By sin of  no sin John died, he died for doing good. In the same situation someone else would have beautified sin ,smoothened it giving it the colour of gold, sparing life but condemning souls, and probably getting something of it. Don’t find pleasure in getting blessings from sin. 
What happened to, we live by the grace of God , by faith, by believing in a better us, by trusting in his will,good thing  we are given free will, i say, if its sin, soak your self in it and reap from its fruits, if its  God live by him, like there is nothing else you got to do, don’t leave us confused of what you are. in a group of zebras try not to be coloured, different.

Choose the dance you want to be good at,don’t twist your legs trying dance both dances.  A chameleon has never been known to walk faster for it has to adjust to each and every colour, explains why the hare is faster, think about it.

Game of love.

I know not to write of love for it is pain i see. Hypocrisy, deception, and a game of want.

For its what one wants one plays to get. There are seekers in this game, genuinely good persons who seek for a true story, but the true players  don’t play to win, they play to get what they want, leaving the seekers on the look out. 

I know not to write of love, this game of showing of. What have got to what you’ve got, lost in between are those that got nothing. 

A game of popularity and age. The eye is blinded to what it sees,the soul packed aside to not feel the guilt,and a thrown conscience to not feel how wrong it has become as long as the body gets what it wants.

My hands knows not what to write for my mind will not participate in this lie, my heart feels for love for its slowly fading, scared of what tomorrow is gonna be. Scared of writing of pain and tears, of a seeker broken by a player who gets not crushed. Scared that I’ll be no more wise in the knowledge of a true love. Scared i will join the seeker in finding that which is being pushed to extinction. Scared that the seeker will not know true when they find it. They’ll not tell a lie from truth.

I know not to write of love but speculations, what if,what is, how is it going to be. 

“When hurt in love,take it as a lesson learnt and if ever its a repeat,walk away no matter how much you think you will loose, do they not say that if its yours it will find its way to you? Don’t hurt you and keep on hating for what you may do to yourself. “


​How can he walk with his head held high? when shame has visited his home and redicule is his doorknob? How can he make them understand when they don’t listen? How can he speak without glances from them of good deeds? How can he tell them that the son’s they call righteous are birds of the feathers and they all flock together?
He can’t. so he wishes for fate to make them understand. He builds up an imaginary world. A garden of Eden with no serpent to make him fall and be of sin. He wishes they would fit in his shoes for a while. He creates a world with less harsh judgement. He wonders where this species that never fails came from.Them that know how to judge. 
A man has to live his life though. He got to clear his deeds with his Maker.He knows this though, A rock rolled up hill  can roll back to the man pushing it, just as Karma is a bitch.

Wrecked soul.

She learnt to see with her eyes closed, ignore what the heart felt, she listened to reason,gave in to challenge,  paid attention, close attention that she became wise enough to know when to walk away, making an iron wall around her, but she never knew that her heart was growing cold, that her humanity was drying up,  the what that made who she was faded, she became cold and cared not, she was a lost black sheep, whose shame showed no regrets, worse she began to love it,for it was the only way she could avoid pain, so the good in her she buried, and deep into the darkness she walked, only light bright enough to wipe her history and re-write her story would rescue her, only a past so dark would show her the light, only that which was impossible, a miracle.

She feared not being a walking dead, for it was a clear fact that no one mourned her, it was time for her to be free in her own cage, a cage she could control, in her darkness,with her cold heart and lost part of her, but was there stubborn pieces of goodness that could be salvaged?  Was there a light so strong to save a lost soul? Was there hope? Was there?

My theory of pain.

I have a theory, in a moment of impact, intense repeated pain, its fear that creeps in, and in pain you find pleasure, in that moment you wish for a change but then, its just a repeat for over and over you’ve been there, you just wanna let go, so in that moment, you wish that you would just forget, amnesia, but is it what you get?

Shh-I beg for silence. 

I want silence, but the whispers are too loud,

How do i open my mouth, when i shiver from the sight of that which terrifies my heart.

 Am sure it was a “hallo” that escaped my mouth, but why am i getting a, “its okay,you run along,see you around,” reply? Its crazy how my heart makes my body do that which the heart wants. Is maths this complicated? Someone please tell me why do i keep count of the good nights, see you tomorrow, i noticed they are too many in a day,  how do i count every word over and over? 

Over and over, re-reading my text, the whispers say that i have found me in someone else. I want silence, to think of what she said, the old lady, i was crazy she said, she wouldn’t understand how one would laugh out loud by looking at their phone, i couldn’t agree more, ain’t  it what this fire makes us all, crazy?

I want silence, to fantasize in peace, to feel the butterflies, see the roses, to close my eyes and see that face, oh that face that gives me sleepless nights. To sing in silence, there is fire in my heart, to argue and make up, silence to have this dream, to live in this dream, its a dream, don’t wake me up, if you do, if you wake me up, be one in my dream.