That golden moment,
When the magic lantern of my heart,
Illuminated my minds eye
And on you, it settled.
And my heart missed a beat.
I knew that I could take in,
Even a broken heart,
Of a loveless future.
As long as I,
Got to spend,
A sacred hour,
Or a half
Lying in your tender arms,
My world would be,
And I could face,
The headless aftermath,
With your bittersweet magical scent,
Written by Rayhab Gachango
When I finally kick the bucket,
And go to hang out with my heavenly papa,
I want to go down in blaze of glory,
And I don’t mean being cremated,
Although I would love that,
So that I can ask for my ashes to be scattered,
In all my favorite places.
I am a living seed,
I don’t want to go down with my potential,
When they write the history of poetry and writing in Kenya,
I don’t want to be a footnote,
I want to have my own page, or even a chapter,
But if we are many then a long paragraph will do.
This body shall not live forever,
But I want my work to live forever,
In the hearts and minds of those who loved me,
And those who never meet me,
But met and fell in love with my work.
When they bury me,
And the preacher says dust to dust,
I want to be buried with my books,
And I don’t mean the ones I read,
I want to have written many books,
And instead of throwing dust first,
I want my close family and friends to throw in copies of my books.
Cover me to sleep eternally,
With what I loved most my words.
I just bet that if I was a bookworm up here,
There must be bookworms down there,
And they need something to consume,
So they can eat my books,
And we can have a party underneath the ground,
A bunch of bookworms hanging out together.
It may sound ambitious,
My dreams and how I want to be buried,
But for too long I squashed what was in me,
Buried it 6 feet deep,
And I am alive.
So now that I am living and breathing,
I want to uncover my dreams,
And live them.
I don’t want to die,
With all the books and stories that are in me,
I want them in print and electronic copy.
For an eulogy,
I want them to read a piece of prose,
Of my life,
I don’t want it to be dull,
That I came, I ate, I lived, and then I died,
I want it to be filled with awe,
Showing all the literary awards that I got,
And the people I impacted.
So this is my dream,
Though it is abit selfish,
That I shall never be forgotten,
But that though I die,
I shall live through my work forever.
This will not be me!
I dont want to die with books still inside of me as dreams
Written by Margaret Muthee
Up in the fields,
Down in the valleys…
No barley…no lilies…
Roses that once led to a toast.
Causing smiles across miles…
Are there ghosts?
Serenity no longer in the city…
What a pity!
Who dug the pit?
The filth is disgusting,
For a city bustling with life.
Will someone save us?
Let trees enjoy a cool breeze…
People, animals too. It’s free…
Unveil the true essence of life…
Care for the environment…
Then, we shall truly celebrate,
Listen to the sounds…
Birds chirping, rivers flowing…
Watch the butterflies…
Talk of true beauty!
Written by Victorine Ndinda
They say that Time heals
But they never say the exact time
And it has got me feeling that
He is African, Time
And a man too
Taking his sweet time, not in a hurry like
And so I wait for Time,
To heal my broken heart
Am getting impatient though
But my heart insists,
That we wait
‘He has the best medicine’,
My heart says
And so we wait,
We shall, me and my hurting heart
Poem by Victorine Ndinda
………. And this I find
To be the irony of love.
That the strongest are afraid to love
That the most loving will be hurt
That the wildest can be tamed by love
That those afraid of getting hurt
Let chances pass by, and the best lovers go-
Blocking everything. And everyone.
Never wanting anyone to get in
(Sad, that they will never know the joys
Of loving and being loved)
……. That those who are ready to love
Don’t easily and readily
Find that love
They so crave for
But I know these to be the beauty of love
The secret smiles, little kisses, loving touches, wholesome hugs,
Love notes, love poems
Morning texts, and mid night calls
The giggles and laughs
Shared with someone you love
Yes, you may get hurt,
Be afraid To love.
Because, again, the irony of love
That it is better to have loved
Than to have never loved at all
By Gloria Mwaniga.
Whose eyes are bright as stars in a dark sky,
Whose eyelashes are long as a cat’s
Whose eyebrows are thick and unshaved,
She has gazed her way into my heart.
She whose lips are round like an egg hatched by a traditional chicken,
Whose smile is like the winding of the river Naromoru,
She, whose gap is like the path to a forest,
She has laughed her way into my heart.
She, whose hips are well rounded like a well molded clay pot,
She whose waist is like an ant’s,
She, whose breasts are small and firm like a young coconut,
She has got my heart beating like a drum.
She, whose calf is strong and tough,
She whose feet are quick to help,
She, whose heart is tender and kind,
She has woven a spider’s web in my heart.
She, whose skin is smooth as pounded yam,
She, whose hair is rough and rolled up,
She, whose hands are tough because of digging,
She will become my mother’s relative.
For I have been to the city and back,
And seen many girls both dark and light skinned,
But her beauty surpasses all of them.
Her rich laugh fills up her thick fleshy neck
Her big heart draws me to her African bosom