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Sins of your brother.

The son of your father took me and bound me.

In his little prison he lay me . Said he could free me if i danced to the tunes of his filth.

And i, in my sorrows, bent and wriggled, like a hungry freed slave , clung to my master and abide by his command for a morsel of bread crust.

A vagabond unstyled.

A vagabond heartless.

This flesh that was too weak,

His soul cancerous and dangerous.

To my dead ears, he whisphered, tales of St.Peter, Jerusalem and King Nebuchadnezzar.

Michelangelo, Pablo Picasso and Henry Matisse.

He promised joy on a golden platter, but gave rotten fruit on a wooden bowl.

Said he could give me children so clean without original sin.

But before i agreed, before the rain fell,

your brother dug the fields unruly, like a drunken savage.

I cried. This was not heaven was supposed to feel like.

1/3 A Day And a Microsecond In Space.

Its cold outside. The rain pounds on the roof, first softly like an infant’s heartbeat , then mildly like a practise session of a tap dance beginner. Not long, the pitter patter is replaced by angry drops of rain. 

The mothers lull their toddlers to sleep. The vegetables outside sprout a centimetre taller. A kettle hums gracefully in a kitchen. 

Out in the city, teenage girls queue at the door of a famous abortionist. Temperatures sore up the chats again, and in Antarctica, another iceberg broke, scientists say. Chicken farms feed antibiotics to their chicken. Too much fertiliser in the tea estates out in kericho. This humans!

Out in the ET, the aliens brunch on a cocktail of glass and molten aluminium. Millennial aliens throw some shade on pop culture. Here, there is no dirty politics. No terrorist attacks.  The atheists and christians watch a sombre human documentary on religious wars and prosecution. A young mother, wipes her tears in sorrow. 

The alien fathers  gulp on fancy shots of tap water amidst a game of chess. The heterosexual and homosexual teenagers play squash out in space.

The Alien strategists and Logicians layout the invasion plan. Earth is not hard to take over. 

You just divide,invade, then rule this fuckers. 


Don’t call me a prisoner.

The leaves outside are rustling gingerly, carefull not to awaken the grass, while I, sit here watching the air and sniffing your thoughts. My hands long for your touch..or just a tug at your collar, a tiny brush at your strewn graying beard, but you have become a judge, seated so high in your throne of judgement that a touch from a sinner like me would make you unclean. 

Your fingers hold the green of cannabis and the black of previously lit tobacco. Between your teeth is the occasional Khat, groundnut skins and the smell of  bubble gum, and the occasional hair strands. Your veins stand out, and i can see your mistreated heart beat through your thrift clothes. Your organs are your slaves, but it is in me that you see a prisoner. 

You now preach about the gods, of holy scriptures, saints and miracles.  You talk about Elijah and the virgin mary, angels, Jesus,the holy trinity  and immaculate conception with so much zest, the orators are ashamed. 

While i wallow in shallow disgrace, in murky have found a straw to clutch at.

Across your feet, lies a bible, and a half spilt drink, stale bread, and a rosary at hand. We shall eat no bread, indulge not in immoral acts. Have not thoughts that make us lust for human flesh.

We shall not worship no other god but yours. We shall observe the sabbath, love out neighbours, tell the truth, commit not murder, unlawfully acquire not properties that belong not to us. Your book further says the greatest command is love. Is this not love i have shown you? Wasn’t that love when i saved you a glass of mild vodka, and threw virginity out the windows so you could be happy? 

Now you read out my sins one by one. You accuse a girl of failure to believe. A girl is also accused of fornication, and incest. A girl tempted a boy to sin, so a boy is the victim. A boy was happy too, But a girl will be the only one to burm at the stakes.  

A girl will be judged for her questions on faith. Didn’t a girl give bread to the hungry, visit the sick, sell her sliced peach so her children could go to school and have not empty stomachs. A girl did not overprice her merchandise but now she will burn with the murderers;…and the abortionists.

 I sit here listening to your chants, your ugly sickening chants so crude the walls cry and sob intermittently.  I listen to your tales of  freedom and eternal life which you shove down my throat like a sick toddler’s medicine.

You call me a sinner, a waste of man’s rib, and above all a prisoner. You said true freedom and joy and found in Jesus.

If you untie my limbs, i too will be free. I will crawl and fly if i can, but you hold me here and feed me the word. You shut your eyes to my struggles., the wary fights between what i see and what i have to listen to. The preachings of a god who created earth then went to hiding in the skies. The one who let the good people suffer and the bad people rejoice? The one who sent the hurricanes and the tornadoes. The one who lets infants starve while rich men put fruit in their soap?

So don’t  call me a prisoner when the shackles that bind your mind and soul are tighter than the sisal ropes on my limbs.

Just don’t  call me a prisoner.


Better men?

The believer lures the unbeliever to believe.

The non-believer lures the believer from belief.

Religious wars.

Yet a child sleeps hungry,

A terrorist maims and kills

A leader steals and corrupts

The kardashians strut naked

Cancer patients in pain

Youngboys sodomised

A man kills another,

Countries make atomic bombs.

Everybody fights; to prove himself, the better man.

I will forget you when i die.

As the whole world loved and made love in beds full of red routine roses yesterday, clad in red lingerie,the type that look like red fishnets, i thought about the red traffic light, the red flag of a country that i  don’t know, i thought of maroon beetroot, blood, misfortune, calamity, and loss. 

    I also thought about death and his friends,and you.

    Many a times i think of you in the weirdest of places. Doing the weirdest of things. A day ago, i saw you on the washroom door as i battled a bout of severe anal fissures and constipation. You smiled cunningly like old times, bit your middle finger excitedly like a child who had just discovered how he was concieved.

    One time, i saw you lying in the grass, jerking away like your life depended on it. I was seated on a shuka besides you playing  My Old clementine on the piano app. Your face was as smooth as ever, your lips lost in that little act of earthly pleasure. There was an amount of unexplainable serenity that came over me as i watched you,and an unsaid learnt lesson that joy comes from within, and that  i could make myself happy even in your abscence.

    Today, i tasted you in nyama choma flavoured potato crisps. Crisp and tangy with a level of salt my mother would approve of .And i thought about you. In another woman’s embrace, making love to her like you did to me. Lost in her, never to be found again. Maybe you were in a bar, with a bunch of your friends smoking high end marijuana straight from Afghanistan while sipping  on a margarita made of imported lemons and local cheap vodka.

    The thrill of teenagehood is long gone and i hear you now have a beard and you only wear African prints. I heard your dad is running for mayor, and that you play the piano now ,and go to the museum during your free time. Also heard that this days, you have become familiar with Pablo Picasso and Henry Matisse and the whole concept of cubism. 

     I also hear that you highly respect women and  you faithfuly cheat on your current girlfriend with enough caution, satan is borrowing skills from you.

    How i wish you were dead,then i wouldn’t have to deal with the thought of another woman with a rounder and well moulded backside than mine, and breasts rounder than the buns in the animation sausage party playing with you and acting like she bore you.

    Maybe today, you and i could be watching 50 shades of grey with our note pads hastily taking notes about the things that aroused Dakota. What was her name in the film again? What e verrrrr.We would critique the movie like Ezekiel Mutua of Kenya Films and Classification Board had asked us to give him a million and three reasons why the movie should be banned in Kenya.
    We would secretly laugh and be amused in turns at the white man’s love making skills. 

    “Look at her butt, ”

    “Psst, cut it , i know you like it,”

    “We should try that,”

    *the tv volume goes up, and what happens during the movies stays at the movies*

    My brother once  told me you were bad company. And you ran around with many girls. I asked him to mind his life. That did not matter. It was me you came to when day rolled up its sleeves. It was me you told about your dirty past of toilet shagging and recurring episodes of  diseaseas my fingers would deny writting down. 

    At one time, we hauled ourselves a hall away from where your senile grandmother sat on a rocking chair. You swore she was too ill to even hear or remember. A week later, she passed away and you eulogised her on your instagram as your mentor. Your toothless deaf and blind mentor. We disgraced her.

    But above all the insanity, i remember the first time we talked, for hours, we laughed and played amature chess, with a couple of drugs tucked inside your jacket pockets.

    That was us. Young and brave. Bold and carefree. Footlose and feeding our egos. You once embarrassed a boy who  winked at me and called him a little frail dick incapable of achieving a massive boner.Then, I laughed. I found it funny. 

    But slowly, your toxiticy caught up with me,like an untreatable cancer. I began to see the selfish patterns, the lies. The cruelty embedded in your DNA. You laughed at street children and dug into grilled goat ribs without a care about the slain goat’s family.

    Then we fought, and fought and when we were done fighting, we fought again about the cause of the fights. Then we slowly kept distance and you called me out on my anxiety and paranoia. Sent your bitch friend with a catalog of hospitals that treat bipolar disorder. I got the message brother,loud and clear.

    So now, my spontainty and random childish acts were no longer funny but acts of immaturity and a skipped childhood stage that was now catching up on me. 

    Years have gone by, you stopped the occasional checking on me,then the holiday wishes toned down, slowly, you forgot me.

    But here i am. I think of you when i can. I wish to forget you, but you are like the taste of bitter herbs in the mouth; easily washed away by  a pint of water but forever printed in the mind. One day maybe,in a funeral home, cold and stark naked, i will try to forget you.

      I KNOW.

      I know God,i know Jesus, i know the holy spirit, the Bible, the garden of Eden and the cunning serpent. I know Jacob, Esau, Pharaohs, I know Egypt. I know religion, Godliness, i know hypocrites, i know liars, i know matyrs.

      I know Kanye, i know Kendrick Lamar, i know rap, i know trap. I know Papa Jones, Sauti sol, Sarabi. 

      I know humanity, i know rights, i know responsibilities. I know social injustice, i know the constitution, i know corruption and dirty politicians, i know stunted policies, i know unfair laws, i know my dabbing president.

      I know medicine, i know drugs. I know illegal importations.

      I know hungry children, angry fathers, overworked mothers. I know raped women and men. I know ignored youth. I know the handicapped. I know cancer, i know HIV/AIDS, i know transgenders, i know homosexuality, i know sodomy, i know incest.

      I know sex, pornography. I know 50 shades of Gray. I know prostitution, i know sex slavery. I know contraceptives, abortion, miscarriages, i know still births. I know maternity wards.

      I know love, romance, realationships,heartbreaks. I know birthdays, weddings. I know relatives. I know friends, i know relative friends, true friends, fake friends. I know friends with benefit. I know neighbours, i know good neighbours. I know hommies.

      I know good food, good music.I know Muthoni The Drummer Queen, I know her ample bossom,I  know Papa Wemba, I know Pablo Picasso,and Da Vinci. I know Mafikizolo. I know Umkhonto We Sizwe. I know Dedan Kimathi, and Tom Cholmondely. I know the year the railway reached Mombasa,the year the British flag came down.

      I know lies,i know trust, i know family, betrayal. I know tears, i know emotions, i know ignorance and pretence. I know lust, and envy. 

       I know you, i know me.  I know you. I know me. I know life, i know the difference between a heart and a soul.

      I know the earth is round. I know oxygene. I know eternal life, i know zombies.

      I know, i know. 

      I know Mars,i know Jupiter. 

      I know were wolves,i know vampires i know lycans, but i believe in Aliens.

      On a night like this.

      As the sun goes down over Africa, and dark creeps in like an unwelcome but expected guest, the owls put their mascara on. It is going to be a long night. Out in the fields, teenage crickets mock the ode de joy.

        Solitude,silence and stealth.

      Somewhere above, the ozone layer is depleting.The political clowns exchange cases of faithfuly new crisp currency uptown. A child yells at its mother and the father walks out. In a kitchen downstairs, the milk burns to charcoal.

      Two kilometers out of town, two homosexual gods make love hungrily. Love is a want and a need that has to be compromised. As the two sink in each others juices, and indulge in the forbidden fruit hungrily,a couple tries for a a child the 100th time, as another wrestle each other to the ground.
      In the next town, in a posh upmarket home, a sad lady signs divorce papers tearfully staining her smooth sagy eyes with eyeliner.Her old skin glitters like it  spent a night in an oven baking and she smells like freshly packed soap. Now she has nothing to look forward to; except maybe spending eternity in  a gold casket preserved like an Egyptian god.

      Two robbers are gunned down by a squad of police officers, and a family of six is reported dead after a serious fire in the hood.

      The night slowly grows on, tired and weary of this mundane routine.

      A young woman lies in bed next to a sweaty child. In the dark, she plays with the childs torn underwear and toys with the idea of the ideal future of this toddler. Suddenly, anger gets to her as a thought flashes her head.

      Paedophiles belong to the hottest and most severe part of hell. The rapists too ,

      and the girl who gave sliced peach to her boyfriend.

      The boyfriend too. 


      ME AT 19.

      Once upon a time,i begged to be understood. I wished  to question the lemon tree’sthorny nature, the sun why it burnt with malice and the tortoise if faiba could pace up its speed.

      Now am old enough, old enough i even lie to myself. Once upon a time, we basked in sincerity, but now, even my own conscience whisphers lies to me in my sleep.