MsichanaMdogo

short view on life and such…

Echoes

Echoes…

It feels empty in here

Can you hear me?

Voices bounce off the walls

Memories linger..

Emotions run deep

Yet,  it still feels empty

It’s just me who is here..

Holding on onto my own hand

 

 

 

Moth and flame

We dance

We dance and,
tease and,
flirt.

I am dazed by the light
The flickering
My blazing flame
Your heat is luring

Your body is tongues of heat
I see smoke rising
I don’t know who turns you on
But we dance each time you are

I try to get closer
My wings singe
Bittersweet
I fly closer again

We dance

We dance and,
tease and,
flirt.

“Kintsukuroi”

She built poems by

putting together

discarded pieces

of her heart

and long

remembered aches.

By Michael .. i call him Woozie.

Reblogged from: http://michael.co.ke/2014/03/kintsukuroi/

Guest Post: MY TERRITORY’S TITLE DEED

I’m hardly good with words.. i just chance on their ability to gel and sound coherent when chained together.. so i was trying to express how i feel at this time of my life and came across this piece..i could really relate with it.. it said what i felt so  i had to reblog: Si ati i am such a blogger to have a guest post..but some of you readers..enjoy..this writer..well he knows his stuff. 

My Territory’s Title Deed

My eyes have beheld the light,

my lips have tasted life,

my feet have been stung by might

and my fingers by heat melting away the wedding ring forcefully put on by strife,

I thrive day and night,

my mind no longer bleeds from pain stabbing like a knife,

where self defeatist thoughts ran amok and hope took flight,

now warrior chants are rife.

Here’s to victory over me,

insecurity, inconsistency,

here’s to victory,

destiny and ever-blazing legacy,

here’s to victory,

succeed, your ground never cede,

here’s to victory,

and taking over my territory’s title deed.

sijisumbui kwa mawazo ya kujifadhaisha,

mbona nijigandamize na bure nna tele maisha,

vipawa vyangu vitanifanikisha,

hadi ile siku pumzi yangu kwa kasri la Maulana itajiegesha,

nitajitahidi kujinufaisha,

ndoto zangu tazihalalisha,

hamna hata mmoja atakae kanusha,

kwamba yangu nia kwa hatma nlotengewa itanifikisha

My words and utterances are different,

I am living in my element,

Everyday I awake to the scent,

of a new day, yesterday well spent.

I sing a new song at dawn,

I no longer traipse through life withdrawn,

I tango with reality like the dew does with the lawn,

And embrace life like an ayala embraces its fawn,

Here’s to victory over me,

insecurity, inconsistency,

here’s to victory,

destiny and ever-blazing legacy,

here’s to victory,

succeed, your ground never cede,

here’s to victory,

and taking over my territory’s title deed.

sijisumbui na mawazo ya kujifadhaisha,

mbona nijigandamize na bure nna tele maisha,

vipawa vyangu vitanifanikisha,

hadi ile siku pumzi yangu kwa kasri la Maulana itajiegesha,

nitajitahidi kujinufaisha,

ndoto zangu tazihalalisha,

hamna hata mmoja atakae kanusha,

kwamba zangu juhudi zitanizidisha

Here’s to victory over me,

insecurity, inconsistency,

here’s to victory,

destiny and ever-blazing legacy,

here’s to victory,

succeed, your ground never cede,

here’s to victory,

and taking over my territory’s title deed.

By Kibali Moreithi.

BO’S THIRST.

He sat there, in his rover.  He’d sat there close to ten minutes already and he hadn’t moved an inch. He wondered, “What am I to do again?” He couldn’t seem to remember.  White noise on his radio was suddenly cut by his commanding officer’s voice, bringing him right out his daze. 

 “Bo, do you copy? Head back to base. Your mission is over. Bo? Bo, we need you to move…we’re losing night… Bo? Do you copy?”

“10-4, this is Bo. Heading back to base now.” he said gruffly.

Her body kept growing heavier; she lay limply across the front seat, her head nestled in his thighs. He didn’t want to move her. He did not understand why. He had never been here before. He could hear his rover’s tires plough the fine sand. Desert nights are cold, even so, he had beads of sweat all across his brow.  Anticipation perhaps. 

Earlier that day, he had gotten his final orders. He was to lure his mark to the desert for her execution. He had worked this mark for months now and he knew this day would come, however he didn’t know this is how it would play out.  He went to the transmission room in his bunker to get his video briefing. He walked in and pressed play. His CO came on the screen.

“Bo, you have gotten to close to the Widow. We have to pull this off in the best way possible, without blowing your cover. Those are orders straight from the top. My hands are tied here. So here’s the deal, tell her you have a new lead for her and he wants to meet out in the desert at midnight. It shouldn’t be a hard sell, she is desperate now and she needs supply, plus you have in the palm of your hand.   Hawk will drop her, he is the best sniper we got. Radio in as soon as we have a go.”

He hated these briefings. They didn’t care what he thought about missions when they briefed him like this. What did they mean too close? The Widow trusted him enough to have him eat at her table.        He had worked so hard and the bloody bastards were now taking the best part of the mission from him. The closing. How dare they? Was he just a pawn, that they thought they could play anyway they felt? He felt insulted more so that they picked Hawk. A sniper? They had no idea that he had already mapped out how Widow would meet her end. It was going to be his masterpiece. Hawk was no artist, he was just a cold killer.

He headed back up into the main house and decided it was time to get ready. He called Widow and set up the meet. It was harder than they thought to convince her to ride with him and leave her mugs behind. He knew then that he had indeed won her trust. Or maybe she was really that desperate. Word on the street was that her cartel had vowed loyalty to a new don and she was out in the cold. She needed anything to reclaim her honor and restore her street cred. This new lead from Bo could be her way out.  They agreed to meet at 2300h and drive out to the desert.

He took his time getting ready. A long shower, a meal and a good stiff drink. It was going to be an eventful night and he needed to focus. Hunger did him no good and the drink calmed his nerves.

He set out, throwing a duffel into the back seat of his rover, he headed out to the Widow’s mansion and picked her up. She was dressed in jungle green cargo pants and a matching long sleeved shirt. She said she had to look tough, like the commander that she was. He suddenly felt underdressed in his black vest and blue jeans. Maybe he too should have dressed menacingly.

“It doesn’t matter,” he thought. “They will know I mean business.”

They drove out in silence till the meet point and he sent out the signal that they were there.  The Widow was eerily calm when he assured her his contact would show up when they didn’t immediately spot them.  How desperate was she?  Anyone else would have felt the cold metal of her side arm that she thought she had hidden so well under her waistband. So they waited. All of twenty minutes.

Bo wondered what Hawk was waiting for. He felt like such a pansy. In no control of his current situation. Following orders from his CO, directives from the Widow who was now growing too antsy she wanted to drive back. He knew full well, driving back meant he was driving back to his death at her mansion, if he would even make it back all the way.  He hated this.

Finally he saw the laser dot on her forehead as she continually blasted into his ear what a total waste of time this had been. What was Hawk waiting for? Why wasn’t he taking the shot already? Another minute passed and she faced forward and was immediately executed. She fell face first into the dashboard. He took her and lay her across the seat, to make her look like she was asleep on his thighs his cover for the drive back into town.

He sat there for ten minutes, in his enraged daze planning his end to this mission. He had his own plans. There was still going to be a masterpiece tonight, even though it wasn’t the Widow who lay dead in his car. He was to take the body back to base, as proof of completion to the powers that be.

He wiped the sweat off his brow and began to smile now that he had come back to his senses and the anticipation of his kill back at base boiled his blood that he didn’t feel the biting cold desert air.

Finally he remembered what he was to do. He reached for his duffel in the back seat. He took out his double barrel shotgun and had it within reach. His smile grew wider.

He was thirsty, blood thirsty

 

Late nights, early mornings

I’m scared to write. Scared because I don’t know how far I’ll go with it. What I will say.  Scared because it won’t make sense, maybe not. No, definitely not.  Scared because I’m haunted by thousands of thoughts in my new late night and early morning cycle.

I’m scared that I will repeat content. Scared that I will sound boring. Scared of grammar and the mistakes I am prone to making. Scared of the mistakes I am prone to making. Scared of the mistakes I made.  Scared of the mistakes I make in my late night and early morning cycle.

I am freaked out by the prospect of letting people in again.  Freaked by the possibility of their disdain towards the machinations of my mind and my being. Freaked out by the ‘per chance’ s and the ‘happenstances’ of rejection. Freaked out by rejection. Freaked out you won’t have me. Freaked out in my late night, early mornings cycle.

Late nights, early mornings. My new rhythm.  I am afraid of it.  Afraid of what it does to me. Zombiefys.  I am afraid that I need you more than ever, yet I lie to myself that I am not afraid of being alone.  I am afraid that I will be forever, alone. Afraid that you don’t think of me as much as I do you. Afraid that you already went ahead and replaced me. I am afraid of you and how hooked,I get to you. I am afraid of my need for you to get through my late nights and early mornings cycle.

I hope. Still. In the midst of my dark fear.  I hope. I yearn.  I will.  I will you to talk and think of me. I yearn for your smile, your laugh, your nearness. I hope late nights and early mornings will not forever be spent alone. My dark fears will hopefully melt into yearning. Still. I hope I’ll be yours one day.

Think of me, in your late nights, and early mornings.

Downtown Nairobi…

Walking down the street, elbows and unidentifiable objects in handbags and shopping bags nudge and poke my sides and shins.  It hurts.  Downtown Nairobi.

I try to make myself smaller to weave and bob through the Sea of people all trying to get to matatu stages and bus stops to get to their offices and classrooms.  Fail terribly.  Downtown Nairobi.

My eye level is pretty low.  Seeing how short I am you would understand.  I make it worse by looking down and watching every step I make.  Literally watch.  Downtown Nairobi.

It’s cold this morning and I am trying to warm myself, thinking warm thoughts. I can almost feel my warm tea cup in my hands, waiting all the way across town.  For now rubbing my palms and breathing hot air into them will have to to do.  Rub, blow, rub.  Downtown Nairobi.

This guy bumps into me and almost spins me around on my feet.  I swear under my breath,then give him the death stare and almost forget where I’m going.  Bump into someone else.  Damn.  Downtown Nairobi.

This guy holds me for moments in his arms, and asks whether I’m alright.  I look flustered he points out.  I can hear my response in my head, then realise it’s not coming out my mouth.  Errr… Downtown Nairobi.

See, I got so lost.  This concern feels strange and unfamiliar.  Has it been that long?  This do-gooder, he is quite the looker and he smells pretty awesome . Like a chocolate flavored rainbow.  He looks at me ‘Are you okay?’  I search for my words.. ‘Yes’.  This moment froze in time.  Mind-capt.  Downtown Nairobi.

His eyes are deep dark brown pools of wonder and they steal my breath and a few beats of my heart.  I pray it’s not fleeting, but I smell the acrid inevitability and reality hits me.  We’re in Downtown Nairobi.

He sets me straight on my way.. ‘Be careful now..’ Then like the wizard he is.. He casts the spell that has haunted me since.. His lips part and this glorious beauty is splayed across his face. It’s contagious.  I find myself smiling back.. Blushing. Downtown Nairobi.

As I walk away, it dawns on me that I may never see him again.  What have I to hold on to?  The memory of his smile.. His melodic voice, the brown infinite pools that were his eyes, the tenderness of his ‘almost – embrace’.  I’ll walk this street again.  But to see him again.  Downtown Nairobi.

Sucks

Sucks when it comes… and goes
But that’s just how it is.
Up and down.
Bright then dark
Evident then not so
Cryptic then obvious
Sucks
But that’s just how it goes
That’s just how he is
Here today, strong as a storm
Off – feet – sweeping
Magical and all consuming
Then gone in a cloud of dust
No certain reason
At least none relayed
Just gone
Then winter comes
He grows cold
And you’re down this one way street
Alone
Convincing yourself you’re not lonely
Secretly dying inside
Feigning strength
Reaching out whenever possible
Only to meet a limp hand
That wants to be shaken – not shake
And you stand there
Like you got egg on your face
Looking stupid
And as much as it sucks
You know you will be here again.
Doesn’t that just suck?

Somniloquy II

i saw him again last night

that man from my dream

my heart skipped when i spotted him in the distance

a smile naturally curved across my face

would this be another chance for us to speak?

would be enchanted by his words?

he gestured and smiled facing me

my smile grew wider and my face beamed

my heart swelled..

then almost as quickly

it fell to my feet

when i noticed it wasn’t i that made him smile

not even the “come hither” gesture was meant for me

i still approached – msichana the resolute

determined to make him notice me

i walked on smiling harder

hoping harder so

passed by.. not a flinch

can the heart sink further than the feet?

it did

then suddenly a warm pal against the back of my palm

not a word spoken, just a familiar glint in the eye

an empty stare..that knowing look

i walked away…

Mask off.

The masks come off

the minute we get what we want

what we chased for

what we longed , even yearned for

The masks come off

and we reveal who we really are

who we have been

the entire time

…underneath

The masks come off

and our truth shows

the truth behind the facade

the pallidity beneath the glow

The masks come off and we are left bare

Nude for appraisal

as we were born

Your  mask’s come off  sir,

so good to finally meet you.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,550 other followers