Father listen.

 

 

 

 

 "Of course i can hurt you, simply with my point of view - Guru of Gangstarr"

 

 

 

 

 

 Joe Mwenda

where
i shall breath in peace love and respect
and out breath the same
where
i shall drink from a cup thats free
eat from a plate thats just
where
i shall live from my means
and not on promises
the broken and yet to be broken ones
where
i shant suppress pain with pills
postpone pressure with puffs and pints
where
virtue is embraced and vice is not known
there
father let me and mine exist.

Namatsi

I am the moving wind!

Every aspect of my life is artistic, photographic, a fashion statement, poetic and rhythmic . Every aspect of my life is cherished, shared and sacred!

Dear Pen, dear paper
Take me to this lands planted in my brain by the images I see on TV and in pages of my magazines
Elevate me and let me feel the breeze that a prisoner feels when he walks out the walls of prison as a freeman
Bring me that joy, strong enough to seduce the pain of labour by giving the beautiful cry of a new born baby
Make me a creator of words pen, a craftsperson of verses
A  pro of metrical compositions strong enough to carry feelings and illusions

Make me a king, a god of words
Make me rule in this world, I think
A sailor in this ocean of ink,
A prodigy because it was only you from the start who really acknowledged me
A warrior I hold you my dear pen as my spear,  loving paper as a shield come along
Take me here to this place I have never been
Come along take me near to the greatness in the scene to be seen by all
My dear pen, dear paper
Make me and take me above them all

Dear Pen, dear paper
Shield me from this cruel world by being the sparkling light in my sky
And if better it is to light a candle than curse the darkness;
then be my light at the end of this tunnel
Wait for me there pen
As my insides meditate on the power of words
Wait for me paper
As I prepare for my step
A mark in history to be remembered
A sign of victory that cries; baby freedom
A place I can run away, by myself to find me
A blank page I can draw my dreams and plant myself in places I may never be
For there I can totally be me

So pen and paper
Take me into a trance take me to places further than America, England and France
Take me to the edge of the planet
Lets plan it me and you, how I’ll leave a mark on the universe with every verse I leave
Let me shake the earth’s foundations with every letter I use
Let me reach the limitations that I never knew, and bring something new and something true
And bring something that has never been heard or seen before
Just before the world ends let me blend with the wonders of the cosmos
Lets fetch the applause from the population
Rise against every nation, revelation I am speaking now?
Your attention picking me! Wow!
My dear pen dear paper lets leave them asking how?

Dear pen, dear paper
Be the home of these weapons: WORDS
Receive them like a soldier coming back home with pride
Hug them like God would hug a repenting murder
Receive them like the sky does the sun by day and the moon by night
They say sticks and stones break bones
But you know that these words you bleed, scar my dear paper
Can break any spirit and terrify any soul
These words can break and make a man
They heal and can kill
They destroy and can create
These words can burn the soul and drive it to hell
These words can bring the Glory of God down
Dear pen, dear paper paint them this picture
Clearer than the tears of the crying stone
More beautiful than the shy mountain

Dear pen, dear paper
Come and speak to me gladly
I want to hear the voices in my head like randy
Take me to the boxing ring go twelve rounds
Take me to the sky because am tired of the ground
Take me to the place where no one else can reach
Like an itch you scratch, come attach me to that that we don’t understand
Dear pen, dear paper make me the man

roto (espania)

©Kaffy Mwangi

I take a bow
to this world,
a bow
to wolves
in sheep's clothing.

tonight I rest my soles
burn my heels
and let my soul
nurse the wounds
of friendship.

 

Confessions of my Fears .::A short story extract by Kaffy Mwangi from the Story Confessions of my Nyctophobia::.

©

Kaffy Mwangi


I would wake up in the middle of the night
and I would gasp for air,
My hands would shake
my whole body was in a fit.
You would hear my heart beat so loud,
loud like a train grinding on its rails.

My shrink said it’s just paranoia,
Just trauma wound itself in the figment of my subconscious.
It would get so bad my parents got me an inhaler,
thought I was asthmatic.
They covered me up in more blankets
said the bad dreams will go away.

I couldn’t breathe at night,
my pupils would dilate,
I was in a fever, hot and sweaty
you could trace my veins to the heart
Yet goose bumps  cropped from every follicle.

‘’you know when you are drowning; you actually don’t inhale until you black out.
It’s like no matter how much you are freaking out the instinct not to let any water in is so strong that you won’t open your mouth until you feel your head exploding, and when you do finally let it in, that’s when it stops hurting; it’s not scary anymore ,it is actually peaceful.’’

But not this.
Every night I close my eyes
and the fear….

The fear is worse than drowning,
I don’t hear them break into my house,
I don’t hear them get in

Then blips of light grow,
In the dark they glow,
brighter than dawn.
I can’t move ,I can’t see.
My eyes interrupted from sleep
can’t stand the bright light.

My heart beat is too loud
It gets lost in its own echo,
Everything is a dull sound
I can’t hear a thing
I cant see anything
Just blurred shapes and figures
voices that are not clear
everything had either dimmed or slowed down.


Well,
I’m fine now.
Aside from the not sleeping
the jumpiness,
the constant overwhelming crushing fear
that something terrible is about to happen.


They actually have a term for it.
It’s called hyper vigilance,
It is the persistent feeling
of been under threat.

But every dusk, it’s not just a feeling,
It’s like a panic attack,
like I can’t breathe
like I won’t breathe
like I’m drowning.

My friends say I move in with a friend.
Its not like I will always live with them,
nor like I do not try  to have people here for sleep over’s,

Still!

It doesn’t take this fear away,
till I can sleep with the lights switched off
till I can sleep till dawn without waking up
to every squeak and raffle
I will never be better.

I close this doors every night
and it’s like I am locked up in some asylum
 with green lights.

always scared,
afraid of the unknown,
always under that persistent threat.

Written Notice

On more than an instance,

When I’ve been idler than a broken lamp-post -

Time weighing heavily on my hand,

As pen and paper prove closer than a brother:

I have taken written notice of slit eyelids upon a chocolate face,

Accurately chronicled after carefully observing -

Playful fingers twitchily twist a neck pendant,

And spin a plastic band on a wrist’s axis

Hands press down a dress’ length for modesty’s sake

 by Kevin Orato (Notes)

The slow-motion, almost rehearsed brush of the brow,

Unsaid appreciation for the Viewer’s attention

How seamlessly well she blends with the surrounding;

Not merely part of the furniture but its mantelpiece

Manipulating without earnest effort, events around her;

Keeping in check any intrusion and mischief.

As if by magic wand, conjuring up occurrences

But like a skilled orchestra conductor, directing tune.

Never really losing her ladylike comportment -

Apart, of course, when acknowledging the Observer.

I draw stealthily behind her while she’s otherwise occupied,

Helplessly tranced here by a distinctive impression upon me.

Trusting, perhaps, that by hovering around unnoticed long enough -

I just may catch whiff or fully understand this aspect;

A special quality causing such mystic absorption -

It results in frenetic reflection of the literary kind;

And the bizarre desire for more than just the written word.

Oh, what a worthwhile passage of idle time.

THE OTHER ONE

In another time, another life;

All factors constant and considered,

Both parties on the same wavelength,

Scruples dangling uselessly on the window-sill -

And the Other One conveniently inexistent:

I’ll eat from your hand – a tamed beast, 

Toe the party line from sheer bliss

Brought about by my prying for misadventure,

Utterly mindless of a dark surprise hanging unseen -

As I hug tightly, the mirage of a storybook finale!

ALAS! It is now!

Everything is as is and appears thought through:-

And the Other One inconveniently exists.

HISIA ZANGU POETRY WORKSHOP

• • 

    Sunday, April 21, 2013
  • 

    2:00pm until 5:30pm

• 20TH FLOOR TELEPOSTA TOWERS (Koinange street entrance - EASMS)

• Hisia Zangu is an association of poets and writers who meet with the main objective of analyzing poetry and writing and offering a detailed critique to improve its quality. We also offer a discussion platform for anyone who wants how to revise existing poems. The family has reinvented itself for the betterment of art. From this month onwards, we'll only share and discuss poems, short stories, and novella/novel excerpts revolving around one central theme. This month our theme is LOVE. LOVE is an aged topic. The age of LOVE is the age of GOD. Yet in our attempt to engender some kind of freshness, we'll be looking for something new, a new twist to the eons-old tale of hearts. "To love is to live. To fall is to be in pain. To be alone is to be hurt. To be in darkness is to be in light first." Let's bind our words to emotions. Let's fall in love with ourselves, with others, with the world. Submit your best and unique love writ, experience, fantasies ... hisiazangupoetry@gmail.com Only 1 submission. Entrance - Kshs 100 Pen, Notebook, .... http://www.facebook.com/events/577206795631177/