Clouds Cry

I earned a PhD in heartbreak,

Give me a much needed break.

Look pretty, sit still, smile, care more than you should

I would, I mean is there anyone else who could?

Late nights, drunk texts, unprecedented gifts

Dinner, date nights, compliments, smiles, fits

I care more than I should,

If the roles were reversed you would.

This is not poetry,

This is not flow,

There’s no rhyme but there’s a reason,

I cannot fathom how or why,

but I finally believe clouds cry.

A song in my heart

I woke up with a song in my heart,

It felt like I had a new start.

I could have taken to heart,

The little things that hurt.

The disappointments, hours in traffic, sickness, bills

All these ills.

I woke up with a song in my heart,

It had no rhyme

I had no time.

It had no melody,

But carried a tune.

I woke up with a song in my heart,

So I filled the beats with words.

I wrote them down, even as I looked like a clown.

I wrote them down

And one by one, the words rang true,

The sun rises on every soul,

The sun sets on every soul,

What you do in between fills your soul.

Let me

You.

Oh, how I wish you knew,

The anger inside that you brew,

Will eat at you.

Piece by piece.

You.

Oh, how I wish you saw,

The love that ought to thaw,

Will set you free.

Piece by piece.

You,

Oh I wish I had the words, the rhyme, the pace, the beauty,

To simply remind you that You are beautiful,

You are true and you are with me now,

So let your heart thaw, and set aside your anger,

Because in two days time,

You shall see me no more,

But these words will haunt you down that path you trod.

Our stories

Our stories, like rivers,flow into a deep blue lake.

They slide past rocks and are nourished by the rain.

Our stories, like shadows, follow us into our dreams,

They are dark like our fears,

Too bold to be ignored like our tears.

They thrive on our lies and likes,

Our stories are like milk sealed in a gourd,

They are shaken, suppressed,sealed,brewed

Our stories take time to be served.

Our stories, like our dance, are refined

They can never be rehearsed.

Each footstep in line with the dust.

So, if I told you that ong’er does not sound as beautiful as monkey,

 Mbura as wholesome as cat

Kibwe as musical as jackal 

 Meru as sweetly vulgar as your mother 

You would not believe me,

I would respect that because then they would cease to be our stories.

Our stories.

A word

I stumbled upon a word,
Evil.
So, I tried to explain it,
I lined up all the letters I knew,
Got A to Z in capitals
They waited for my order,
But nothing came.

I stumbled upon a word,
Evil.
A to Z awaited my command,
I had nothing.
They stated their demand,
I had to use them,
I had to create a word,
To probe and twist and turn,
A to Z awaited my command.

I stumbled upon a word,
Evil.
So, I broke the rules and decided to spell it backwards
LivE.