Posted in Mystries of Life, On Death, On Life

Untitled

What if you died today?
Would you choose to stay a while?
To see the world without you?
Would you be happy?
Of what you will get to see?
What if…
No one really notices your absence,
And finally when you go…
No one would care
And the few who will pretend to,
They will show up for your funeral…
But leave soon after….
For even in death…
You still wouldn’t be desirable!

Cry out to the full moon,
If that’s your desire
Vent your heart out
Through the bottle or a puff…
Or maybe with blood too….
Let the blood cruising within
Reach your inner core
Freezing all that it passes through
And when all is said and done
Please do forget not….
That you are what you are
Opinion around you matters not
Whether in death or life…
You still wouldn’t matter…
So yea…
Die…
And if there’s ever any peace that comes…
May it ever elude you!

©Joy🌹

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Posted in Hope Alive, On Life

Untitled

I am freedom
I meet the horizon
I cry the waterfalls
I wonder the jungle
I dance the birds’ tunes

I am freedom
As untamed as wildlife
Vigorous as rivers
Calm as streams
Flow with the wind like branches

I am freedom
Rooted to home soil
Durable as the mountains
Careless like the rain
Jovial as the sun

So breathe me in
Let me guide you
to new worlds ignored
Let me guide you
to SERENITY.

MARLEEK

Posted in On Life, The Society

Position and Entitlements!

A silent night amidst the clamor around. Blurred visions despite the blinding lights. Wandering thoughts based on the ambiguities of life… Of drifters among the stars and interlopers between universes. Of galaxies around in their own orbits but still a sense of importance clouding our own judgement. With all planets revolving around the sun, including ours. Why then would we feel entitled to everything including assuming the Sun’s position… For the planets to revolve around us?
Are we that important or has our sheer ignorance bred an entire multitude of self serving selfish humanity???

Posted in On Life, On self

Man Harder To Understand…

I keep gazing at my nail tips,
Then suddenly am chewing them,
am not hungry definitely,
But deep in thought,
Who said women are hard to understand?
Who created that ladder ?
Its okay,
But men are harder to understand.

Today he wants you,
he is jealous of every source of your smiling that aint him,
Acts all am good even when its not,
Drags you along the streets for everyone to see you are his,
Then suddenly,
Same street he breaks your heart .

I aint dating the public,
Its you my man, my love,
If you feel like you can’t stand them male friends,
just shhhh and go home,
They might be behind the me staying put in the relationship.

If you feel am too bold,
More manly than you?
Just walk out,
Or even stay and let us grow together,
Drain my moods,
And I will drain your too,
Keep me happy and happy you will be,
Men are harder to understand,
Just let women be.

Lilian wanjere

©2018

Posted in Love..For him and her, On Life

FORGOTTEN WORLD

The first time we kissed there was no rainbow neither the feel of butterflies dancing in my stomach. There was no music: nor golden specks of sun rays in the morning as it perched through dew. The beaconing of hope and flicker of desires of what was yet to be, burnt vehemently in our eyes; yet still remained elusive. But the angst,  the blood rush in my veins as our senses heightened, drove us to a distant world. A world broader than ourselves. Where, like waterlily on shores we could float. Lest we forgot to close our eyes. 
There was silence.  Nothing new. But the rhythm of our lips as they munched against one another in soft abrassion. The tasteless taste of saliva as they exchanged greetings in a two way traffic along a busy street; Was accompanied  by the natural scent of animals breathing ghastly; the sweat that formed the creases of their beings. Nothing ever came close to the power of sniffed glue till thy moment. The odour of our smell mattered not anymore.  This world, only but temporary, heeded better promises than begging for change along the streets.
Vehicles hooted. Mates, caught up in brawls over money, drugs,  or somebody took more than he ought to; more than once hurled bitter words against themselves. At night, the chaotic streets tend to be calm and kind, but not to my kind. In darkness We awoke as we keep tabs on the streets. Always out to make livelihood from the lives of the unkinds who carelessly become our prey. Patrol officers always on the watch,  they consider us as lost course. The masses distaste my kind. Enmity exists between my kind and the police. Shots frequently ricochets. Two days ago a stray bullet maimed One of us,  an eight year old boy. They called the press saying it was “robbery with violence, the authority had to act quick”. Shame. We are the infidels.
In chaos such as this, we find peace and happiness in our ownselves; however infinitesimal. Here, lies my crib,  my space.  No furniture but just piles of rags which plays the part of a bed. It’s dark. Needles for administering narcotics nakedly punctuates the floor. Here we lie. Assuming it’s the perfect place to be.  Oblivious to the sounds of cockroaches and rats in a hit and run on empty cans of whisky. There’s silence not anymore.  Her long dark nails embeds my back; scratching my skin, peeling off layers of my epidermis. My fingers braze her unkempt hair.
The first time we kissed we were high on glue; in our precipices it made us strong, made us who we are, to break the chains of hunger and forget of the outside world. We knew no better when to stop nor what   next. Duty was calling; I had to pull myself from her and be on the watch as others slept. This is my home. Dark, saddened with melancholic hues. This is a forgotten world where those who dwell survive. Not everyone thrives.
©Heart_Art_Poetics

Phill Ibsen 

(Master Of Descriptions) 

2017

Posted in On Life, The Society

TRIAL OF DEATH

*(Session 1)*
Pin point everything you detest about death; like a butcher, lace them up! Place them on the table; one by one we wanna cut them into pieces! Sieve them! Feed them to the stray dogs if we have to. Or perhaps; whence the verdict is given; carry death high on our shoulders; praise him; beat drums and sing victory songs.
Death is on trial; handcuffed; in a frail body that supports itself with a stick; he feebly walks along the hallways into the courtroom; where the masses await! His skin, visibly pale, shows no signs of life; He makes his presence known; he talks less, but even in his speechless traits, silence envelopes in the midst! The masses who thirst for his blood; constantly shouts;
“Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!”;
while spurting mucously thick saliva on the defendant; oblivious of the court rules; are mad with rage! But this doesn’t bother him too!

Onto ye! Where are the plaintiffs?
“All Rise!!”
The judge makes an entry; He is rather a huge old man, with round glasses that slightly suspend itself on the nape of his puffy nose; leaving space between his eyebrows and his glasses; he’s slow to everything! Slow to sit; slow to speech; slow to think! But quick for food. His face, graced with cholesterol. His belly sags; none of his robe befits him; his belly button protrudes revealing his hairy stomach. But this too we’ve become accustomed to. He is good at his work. He’s of sound mind.
The masses are the plaintiffs; in existence are the victims of death, stakeholders of death and policy makers!
Heads down like hens scrapping into the ground; Each group conversing amongst themselves.
Meanwhile, opposite the jury, stares death. He smiles deviously like he owns the court. Yes he does! He summoned everyone here, or yet he volunteered to be the accused. Everyone knows him. Everyone abhors him. The CNN, BBC… The camera’s are on. The world is watching; *”Breaking news: A trial for death.”* This is what he wanted. An audience for his muse.
“Can we have silence in the court?!!!”
The murmurs dim away slowly.
As though in an agreement; the rest of the policy makers sit back as their representative rise to speak.
*POLICY MAKER:* “We think we have a solution on how to deal with death…”
The jury draw attention to him. As silence prevail. Even death himself seem to be perturbly curious. Curious about his end time.
*THE JUDGE:* “Let’s hear it”
*POLICY MAKER:* “To solve the mystery of death… To banish death from our societies then its prudent to erase its roots”
*THE JUDGE:* “Where are its roots? I’ll be delighted to know”
At this point, death has nothing on his defense; he didn’t prepare for this. He never scripted this part. He has no idea what’s on the table.
*POLICY MAKER:* The Coffin Makers!
The masses burst into uncontrollable laughter. Death on the other end; takes a deep breath as he rests his handcuffs on the bar. Deep inside, he says to himself, “it wasn’t life threatening anyway!”.
The judge hammers his gavel; at once order is restored.
*THE JUDGE:* Do you have plausible evidence to support you sir!??
*POLICY MAKER:* yes, your honor
He clears his throat as everyone awaits.
*POLICY MAKER:* we should pass a law that bars carpenters from making coffins. This is the reason why…..
Before he continue; A voice of a middle aged man sprouts from the masses. Dressed in a blue overall. Tooth brown with tarn. His shaggy hair laced with particles of timber. On his ears lies a pencil. He speaks with vigor.
“Then what!!? You’ll feed our family for us? We don’t ask people to die. We don’t advertise the coffins. Its the people who place orders… Young man I respect you but watch how you trade….!!!”
As if he’s the priest signalling the congregation to hurl Amen; the rest of the carpenters in unison, “Yess! That’s right!!”
*THE JUDGE:* (As he slams the gavel) This trial shall end today. The court will go into a recess for 30 minutes, to allow the carpenters and the policy makers come to a compromise.
(Slams the gavel again)
Lonely; death looks around in sympathy. He has no one to care for him.
As the masses walk out of the courtroom. The judge takes 15 seconds to step from his chair. He whispers something along the lines of, “God. I’m starving” its inaudible. Nobody pays attention.
The court is now empty; only silence reigns. And death sits there unmoved. I ignore it as I finalise my notes.
*©Heart_Art_Poetics*

Phill Ibsen

(Master Of Descriptions)

2017

Posted in On Life, On self

UNTITLED

Son…respect a woman,

For you are a gentleman,

And not ‘coz she is a woman,

I remember his words.
Hold your blade up straight,

Taking smooth but firm strokes,

As you keenly look in the mirror,

For that’s how you shave your beard.
Give a firm handshake,

As your stance you maintain,

For in words nations have been built,

And many a like destroyed.
His words echo deep in me,

As I look into your eyes,

I see the same innocence I had,

I know my time to pass it on is nigh.
©Joy

Posted in On Life, To Love

MY BROTHER’S GIRLFRIEND 2


The following day the sun rose wearily 

Its warm rays darkened by the presence of him

My brother, my friend’s boy

Ruthlessly hitting on my door

Threatening to murder it

All in the name of a knock

A streak of sweat,

Pulled my arm back,

A shade of regret,

Pushed my mind blank,

The door gave in,

The gap between my lips went thin.

 In a near slow motion 

My neck refused to hold my head and face

So they obeyed gravity and went falling down 

Now coloured with a hue of pure shame 

I pondered, pensive i thought 

Why did it happen?

Now came along,

A price to pay,

What do I say?

I will be a father,

Should I state further,

How my brother and I,

Differ like ground to sky.

Surprisingly a smile easily formed on his lips

As he prepared his organs of speech

To tell me of the good news 

Of him getting a kid soon

To share his surname with 

To fill our tranquil environment 

With vibrant sweet noise 
I couldn’t help but congratulate

Deep inside a heated debate 

What if the unborn

Has staggered speech 

Has bow legs 

 A receding hairline 

And a short tallness? 

It then would be clear 

My athlete was on the finish line 

While my brother’s was on the mark 

Set to run an already won race

The big questions and answers 

Would be direct to one person

My Brother’s girlfriend
*© Maru_kim*

Posted in On Life

MORE…


There’s more to this world

Other than just friendship,family

And all that creates relationships

There’s more to our brains 

Other than just thinking,meditating

And coming up with solutions

There’s more to our bodies

Other than just pleasure,bathing

And keeping ourselves clean

There’s more to this piece

Other than just enjoying,Seeing

The images formed in each line 

There’s more to happiness

Other than just smiling,bonding 

And having the funniest person next to you

There’s more to betrayal

Other than just jealousy,selfishness

Formed As the earth seems a better place to the traitor

There’s more to these eyes

Other than just seeing,staring

To what amazes us and sparks love

There’s more to emotions

Other than just anger,sadness

Maybe because we lost that special person 

There’s more to you

Other than just what He,She

Thinks you are everytime you pass by 

What do you see??

More??

.

#Poetry_with_Simiyu
#Guest Blogger and Poet : Simiyu.

Posted in Mystries of Life, On Life, The Society

MARKET SELLERS

*MARKET SELLERS*

Day in day out each week,

In their rickety stalls they seat

Running their mouths they sure do,

Screaming out to all who pass by,

Of the wares they got in their stock,

And nothing of what they have not,

For they can’t accept a lack.
The prices out loud they shout,

Their country of origin too they scream,

Of the safety of their merchandize,

Off all the tests they have been subjected to,

But never do they tell…

Of their real worth in your life,

Of the need of you to have them.
By hook and  crook they will sell their wares,

Demeaning those of the other sellers,

Telling of their worsts even when not asked,

Cashing in on their falls just for gains,

All that and more for their goal…

To run them out of the market!

And take over their stalls too.
Through the eyes of the tax collector I will speak,

To dish a word or two about them,

Of the market sellers that shout themselves hoarse,

Bickering and tarnishing others within the market,

Be aware of them…

For even I am wary of them,

Yet I’m just the tax collector.
So next time you pass through the market,

Use your eyes to view the goods you need,

Use your words to get the best prices,

Use your hands to feel the texture of your purchases,

Use your ears not to listen to ’em sellers,

For in no time…

You too shall be driven out from the market,

So be aware our loyal customers.
©Joy🌹