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Thursday, July 16, 2015


The sun sets for yet another day
Gloom too sets in
Yet another night will pass
Darkness in its ghostly silhouette
Will peep through the gaping cracks
Between the timber walling
Solitude will linger and whisper
Calling her by her very name, Malkia
A queen?
A clown must have named her
She concludes.

A clown like all those other clowns
Who despite being so near,
So alike her,
So her own blood
Consider her a white man’s problem
So they’ve dumped her,
Left Malkia to rot away in seclusion
Closer to her fellow waifs
After all
Orphans belong in orphanages.  

Wednesday, April 22, 2015


To search in the crowd
For a mysterious face that’s strikingly familiar
To search deep into the subconscious
For faint infant memories
To delve into old dusty files
For a missing genealogical link.

To dig into the past
Through the present
To stare into strangers’ eyes
Hoping for an instant recognition
To shake a multitude of hands
Silently longing for a memorable touch
To say hi to thousands
Painfully searching for an unforgettable voice

To search for the missing face
Without a clue of its resemblance
Only sure of the potential contentment
Peace of mind
That the missing face embodies.

To search for the missing face
Naively amongst mere mortals
To anticipate His missing face
His contentment
Peace of mind
On earth rather than in heaven.

(It would be deceiving for anyone to think that an adoptee does not think about his/her roots, it's even more deceiving for an adoptee to expect complete contentment without the discovery of his/her spiritual roots)

<div align="center"><a href="http://www.nobohnsaboutit.com" title="No Bohns About It"><img 

Wednesday, March 18, 2015


 Where were you
When their distress call became insistent
Were you curled-up on your leather sofa
Flipping channels from Al Jazeera to Supersport
Did you take a break to heed to their request.

Where were you
When their groans of malnourishment grew persistent
Were you pushing a trolley, filled with junk to the brim
At Nakumatt Galleria after a sumptuous lunch at Java
Were you ashamed of your once-in-a-while coin-donations.

Where were you
When they sniffed glue to obscurity
Were you driving past and hastily rolled up the tints
Was it out of fear or sheer shame at your indifference
Towards these seemingly pollutant bugs.

Where were you
When in Mukuru they slept hungry on cold floors
Where were you
When their peers in Daadab
Lay on hot sand, abused, sickly and numb
Where were you
When in orphanages they wasted their childhood away
Where were you
When they, feigning smiles, posed for snaps with tourists
Where were you
When like merchandise they were traded to pedophiles.

Did you for once, off your busy schedule
Embrace and show them love
Did you for once, off your tight budget
Buy them a nice Christmas dress or shirt
Did you for once, off your high flying career
Spare your skills to serve them
Did you for once, off your high table
Share in their humble troubles and shambles
Did you for once, off your insistent prayers for prosperity
Tearfully intercede for their juvenile souls
Did you for once, just once, sacrifice yourself for them
Just as Christ did for you at Calvary.

Friday, February 20, 2015


What is it about me?
That though yearning
To be beyond reproach
I always find myself wanting
The much I strive to toe the line
The much often I trip.

Is it just about me?
Or an inherent human trait
A gene attracted to sin
That gravitates towards the obscene
That’s at home with greed
Or even gross deceit.

Why can’t I be just perfect?
A crystal-perfect image of Christ
Whom I proclaim with such potency
Only to later fall short
Of flawlessness that’s holy
Why can’t I just for once endure in His fold?

Yes, it’s true I’m just human
Prone to transgression
Weak in face of temptation
Yet, the impulse to be like Him hurts much
Much more than those petite pet sins
That threaten to expel from me, His spirit.

I yearn to reclaim my position
I ache to reclaim my soul, my salvation
Each day as if it was a brand new life
Each day as if I never did it yesterday
Each day as if there’ll never be tomorrow
I pledge to reclaim
My faith each time I tumble
For it’ll never be done

Till redemption at His second coming.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014


Each morning as I arise
I keep in mind that I got a purpose
An obligation to claim my divine inheritance
So my heart and its cravings I keep in check
Shunning the allure of just a pay cheque
That may derail my divine-calling trek.

Each day I wait for Almighty’s orders
No wonder
Like a tennis ball against a brick wall
I sometimes let your advice bounce off
Then, I wait upon that spiritual opinion
Which via supplication, I turn to for instruction.

What boundless delight there is
In clarity of mind regarding my calling
Trends, swagg, in-things… lose their lure
Neither family’s nor friends’ pressure
Appeals me to seal a deal
But does the thrill of divine inheritance.

Oh! What perfect peace there is
In racing for God’s glory, not own honour
Sticking to his grace while leaning on his promise,
In divine purpose, even dry bones flourish,
Thus each day,
Like Caleb, I stick to my Mt. Hebron

Saturday, September 27, 2014


This digital thing is a real fake
Try it and your heart will break
That your online dear is always near
Whatsapp, twitter, facebook,  Skype
Are just enough,
After all you can see her face
While in her heart you book a space
A chat now and then
Her voice is only a call away
So does digital love blossom.

I choose to be analogue my dear
I only feel you when I touch you
When I feel your heart in the darkness
At midnight while you are peacefully asleep
A video chat is not just enough
It lacks the warmth of your breath
It lacks the aura that awakens my souls
When you whisper "I love you"  into my ear
A call won't do, your voice doesn't sound real
The systems steal away its romantic smoothness
That soothes me to wonderland
While you rest easy on my chest
And whatsapp agghhhh.....feels so public
Unlike those fulfilling private moments we share
When a touch here and there isn't just enough.

So call me analogue if that suites you
But it's the only way I can experience
The magic that flows between us.

Thursday, May 29, 2014


Twinkling Tina twinkles not
Her dress is patched, annoyingly multi-hued
Her face is calloused uttery colourless
Her hands are cracked, her tummy empty
Her eyes beg for a little compassion
Her heart aches as she waves
At little girls passing by
Flying twinkling little school dresses.

Twinkling Tina twinkles not
Her beauty lies beneath her worried look
Waiting to be unveiled
By a loving mother
Her spackle is subdued by her visible misery
Only if a responsible father
Would unearth it.

Twinkling Tina twinkles not
She quietly weeps staring at passing cars
Well behind a thicket fence
That conceals her malnourished orphanage
From overlooking leafy mansions
Filled with empty kid bedrooms.

Twinkling Tina twinkles not
Her twinkle is yours to unravel
Once in the comfort of your home
She is the little angelic princess
Drowning in the deep sea of orphanhood
Twinkling Tina twinkles not
Yet under the warmth of your bossom
Twinkling Tina will surely twinkle you
With her twinkling inner rainbow beauty.