The time is past eleven as I glance at my cell phone for the third time. I have been fixed on this faded brown cottoned seat that had cushioned more than a thousand weights in its lifetime, It reeked of age. I have been trapped here for two hours, so that my stomach was unsettled… Continue reading A commuter’s tale
I'll introduce myself as a writer, Lol, who isn't? Okay... I love to write, not everyone loves that. Well... i consider myself a creative writer, the kind that just makes up stuff and writes. My work takes the style of prose-poetry. I think writing in general is... words elude me. It is the best form… Continue reading Writing.
You see me walk by You want to have a taste of me, would like to know how it feels, how I feel. You want to.... tap my ass, is it? Your thighs moisten and your head sways But there's a conflict. Your desires and ''what 'they' will say" are at war. You want to… Continue reading Pity…
I till, With a hoe, with a pen Til dawn becomes dusk I guess that's the only way S'posed to make my pay Every single day. A piece of dime for my time And when I've run out of mine. My bairn'll be next in line.
\n I was driven aback by the wheels of memory. Years ago when we played in puddles after it rained, my friends and I. Thick brown potoh-potoh relentlessly stamped upon, so that it rose high enough to poker dot our omo washed clothes. Our juvenescence was enlivened by running about with bare feet. It created… Continue reading Nostalgia.
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o - Weep not child. The book journeys us through the life of the protagonist, Ngoroge. A typical village boy raised in Kenya, in an extended family and self burdened with big dreams. In the short account of his young life, he experiences love, bloodshed, faith, fear, hope and despair in his native… Continue reading Book Review : Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o – Weep not child.
A trailer load of night darkened his thoughts. It snatched the sunlight from the fields of his mind, one that blossomed yesterday. Now there is nothing but ruins, tatters, a wasteland. The blueness of the truth turned his hope into a squeezed ball of shrunken paper held by a nine year old, whose fate is… Continue reading What’s the fucking point?!