SOJOURNER

In a trance

She sojourns at utopia

Escaping ugly earthly realities

To experience heavenly ideals

Buoyant

She embarks on recreating the marvels

Of cloud-nine here on earth

Sweat and blood she sheds

Making real her vision

She is a sojourner

One who dreads mediocrity

More than death

So through her

The world experiences novelty.

THE SOCIOPATH IN ME

It’s crazy how crazy, people think I am

Crazy that I don’t know

How to love

How to care

How to have empathy

How to be remorseful

How not to be violent

How not to be merciless

How not to hurt heartlessly.

Is it crazy that I think its people who are crazy?

That they expect me to love, care, empathize....

Am I not supposed to have learnt these?

How can I

Understand that which I’ve never experienced?

How can I

When they dumped me

In a godforsaken orphanage

A nuisance, a bug only worth crashing

How can I

When motherly love

Is an animal I only read about in books

How can I

When they denied me

Even the spoiling of a caring grandma

How can I

When all I know is being a statistic

An artifact for nosy tourists to photograph

To demonstrate their godly philanthropy?

How can I

When I unlike other children

Was confined in a national park

One in a herd of useless filth

How can I

When I had no one to share

In my joys and sorrows

As children do with their families

How can I

When they trampled on my family

To build an orphanage

So who is crazy now?

I who practices what they’ve taught me

Or them who expect to reap orchid

Where they sowed cactus?

MALKIA

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.  

THE MISSING FACE

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

Happiness

Joy

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

Happiness

Joy

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 

WHERE WERE YOU WHEN ORPHANS WEPT?

 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.

RECLAIM

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.