I'M A REBEL

Conformity breeds mediocrity
Conventions and I can't coexist
One has to give way to the other
As foolery does to wisdom
I'm a rebel.

Mine is a fight against the grain
A spiritual contentment when giants are slain
A path though fulfilling, filled with much pain
More like a woman in labour
I'm a rebel.

Though seemingly lonely
Mine is a path first trodden by heroes of humanity
Those who dared ask, "why not?"
I'm a rebel
In the company of the greatest that ever lived.

WHAT COULD’VE BEEN

Today, in a bus home, I sat next to a gentle lady

By all signs she has aged gracefully

I watched her swipe through her smart phone

Though slow, her skills were quite spot-on

Once in a while she would glance at me warmly

The glittering glow on her aging eyes was motherly

Throughout the ride, I yearned to hear her mellow voice

But she kept to herself, only radiating a smile in silence

I couldn't help but imagine

That you could’ve possibly been her age

That you could've swiped through your smart phone

Just as she did, slowly but surely

Probably reading a loving whatsapp message

That I could’ve sent you

I couldn't help but imagine

That you could’ve possibly radiated similar warmth

I couldn’t help but imagine

What could’ve been

If death's cold grip could've spared you

A decade ago

Oh dear mama.

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.

DIVINE PURPOSE

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

I CHOOSE TO BE ANALOGUE MY DEAR

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.

TWINKLING TINA

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.

FEAR

I live in fear
Fear that the world will reject me
Once again and make me shed a tear
I fear that the clothes I wear
Will be disliked by my peers
That the friends I truly treasure
Will unhesitatingly run away
If I reject their humiliating forays
That my girl will desert
If along I don't play
That  my boss will trash me
If I turn down his advances
I live in fear that I'm alone
A scavenger on the remnants
Of dying affection
I fear and so I'm always searching
For attention less I loose
Affection from those I perceive family
I live in fear
This fear has turned me a slave
A slave craving for slavely
In a rejection dungeon
I live in fear
That just like in the beginning
I'll be abandoned in a trash can

I BLAME THE MIRROR (LAMENTS OF AN ADOPTEE)

Whenever I stare into your unsympathetic face
You reflect back at me with a scary stare
I see nothing of my angelic looks
I see none of my bright eyes
I feel not my ever warm heart;
All I see is a sad look
One lacking a sense of belonging
I see eyes lost in a dry wilderness
I feel a heart engulfed in loneliness.

Why is your image of me ever distorted
Did I ever offend you prior to my conception
Is it that into your family I brought genetic distortion
Or is it that my presence tips the balance of wealth distribution?

Why can't you just for once present the perfect reflection of me
A beautiful child fumbling to find some solace in a world so unfeeling
With bright twinkling eyes that could light up any emotional dark cave
With a heart so warm it could thaw the snow on Everest
With a conscience so innocent it could shame the dove
Why can't you for once refuse to take my blame?

(Everyone of us is the mirror of the society, whatever perception you carry on adoptees or adoption in general is a reflection of how the society perceives the same. Be the perfect mirror and the not ripple mirror in a disturbed pool.)

BUSHMAN REPATRIATION

I long for the day when I'll go back
To my old village
Sandwiched between the interlocking Abardares
And the thick bamboo filled Kipipiri Hills
Here childhood memories loom large
While kid laughter serenade gods of my people
Endless showers still accompany chilly mornings
While cheerful women tirelessly till their ever fertile farms.

I long for the day of repatriation
To the land of my forefathers
From where I'll tweet
About an explosive football match
Between Geta young stars and Rutuba super eagles.

I yearn for the day of repatriation
To my old village of plenty
From where  I'll post on my blog
A poem on the beautiful young girls from Marimu
Who back then, made us drool all Sunday long.

I yearn for the day of repatriation
To my home perched on a hill
From where I'll  share on my wall
Photos of the interlocking hills of Kiambogo
Overlooking the gorgeous Gatuku falls.

I yearn for the day of repatriation
To "Bush" where nature and civilization freely intermingle
From where I'll capture golden sunrise and sunset
When young couples play hide and seek by river Wanjohi's banks
Then upload it on u-tube for the world to marvel at.

I yearn for the day of repatriation
To where my youthfulness is buried
From where I'll reincarnate it
Convert it into soft copy
Then Share it with the world via social media.

WHO ELSE MAMA

Who else mama
Would have fallen in love
With a desperate hopeless boy
Who else mama
Would have provided real joyful toys
To a brat used to playing about
With plastic dolls of destitution
And marionettes of illusional joy.

Who else mama
Would have cared the least
About an irritating homeless kid
With a wierd accent and a strange strain
Who else mama
Would have taken home a stranger
Henceforth nurturing them
With the precision of a surgeon's razor.

Who else mama
Would have stood villagers' insults
Sore ridicule from children alike adults
Who else mama
Would have blocked her ears
Standing blatant humiliation for years
While building confidence
In a young soul drowning in fear.


Who else mama
Would have been frightened silly
By midnight fever of a child they didn't bear
Who else mama
Would have, in  joy of growth milestones achieved shed a tear
Who else mama
Would have placed her interest at the rear
Just to offer the best
To one not of her womb, but whom she considered dear.

Who else mama
Who else do I call mama
Who else do I owe my life
Who else do I offer my undying love
Who else's love does flow in my nerves
Who else nourishes my soul
Who else makes me whole
Who else is my only caring mother
Yet too my courageous father
Who else
But you dear mama


This is a poem that I specially wrote, dedicated and performed to adoptive single mothers in Nairobi.. God bless you all for having the love and the courage to touch a child's heart. 

WHEN A PIG PROMISES BACON........

He came begging for consent

With his innocent melodious accent

Resembling Mother Teresa's reincarnate

All fell for the masquerade,

Bacon he promised,

His dear life too

Like a martyr straight from heaven.

With drooling appetite for loose change

On the driving seat

The bait, we wholesomely swallowed

Stunningly, for the millionth time

Long before the pig left the sty

En-route to the imaginary abattoir.

Why then the rumbling

Now that the bacon 

Is no where on the menu

While in the sty

The pig is grappling for more ration.

Isn't it not wise to salivate

For bacon promised by a pig

While his head is still intact

And his snout still delving in sludge?