There are times i have words
but they fail to stick
long enough for me to speak.
My hands are forced into submission
my pen falls and ink spurts on my feet.
I feel like im locked in a box
visible to none.
I feel a rush to soar with the eagles
but i have no wings.
I stand in the sun
seeking answers,
but it scortches my skin.
I wait on the rain
to wash the ink from my feet.
But hushed is its answer.
I lay my head on the wet grass
and hope that when i wake,
my pen will forge a poem
from the whole experience.

#kyoe 2012


Just a drop

On a blade of grass
i am.
with no registry:
no proof of belonging.
like a glass pearl
shining as dawn cracks.
What am i?
Just a drop

boot on grass.
boot on grass.
Here i can no longer remain.
to escape a future as mud:
to be more than a stain.
On his boot
a spot i claim.
On his boot
a spot i maim.
What am i?
Just a drop.

The dye in his boot
lets me lay
for none is the union
of drop and oil.
I sparkle.
By a cloth i am taken.
crushed and forgotten.
No lost counted
for just a drop.

New Creation

I start out with a mind desolate.
A mind with a firmament of water alone:
a dark virtual reality.
With only a conscience abiding therein.
I make light in my little world
a light that sees all,
that illuminates for me to see
and i call it day.
I let darkness be.
a darkness to hide sides of me i choose
a darkness to hide my sorrow,
my pain
and i call it night.
I create a throne
in golden streets:
a pedestal from all the rest
and i call it my little heaven.
I organise the masses of water
and call them seas, oceans, lakes, rivers
masses where i can lie on my back
and float away into the horizon.
I part the waters from dry land
so i can get a place to tread
in this journey of infinite paces
and i call it earth.
On earth, i bring forth seed
from seed, plant
from plant: fruit.
To fill my belly and quench my thirst.
I create lights
one for day
to fill me with warmth
and to scortch
they that scorn me
and I call it my sun.
One for night
to soothe me
in sleepless nights
and i call it my moon.

Curse of the unforgiven son..

I walk out my feet bare
into the unforgiving sun.
I the unforgiven son:
Only sorry to myself.
My palm relaxed.
No fan in my hand,
my judgement is at hand

i walk out bare
into the unforgiving sun.
Im letting the sun scan
through my black skin.
Let it bring to light
all about me
as it possibly can.
All that tortures me,
forces injury on me:
brings me harm.

I walk out
into the unforgiving sun.
Take all my blemish away:
get it done.
And as for this twisted life
that is stuck in a web
of lies, pain and anger
that i span,
I’m letting it spin.
Close my eyes
and listen to it crash
and burn.

I walk out into the sun.
My tears blinding me.
Making me want to run
as far as i possibly can.
If there’s a cliff along the way:
get it done.
There’s no one
to cry for mw.
The curse of the unforgiven son
keeps haunting me.

I walk out as the unforgiven son;
Fresh slate
to create
to this world
a new image
of what that i am.
No longer i run.
My pains, my tears my fears,
no longer mine
into nothingness gone.
a new creature born
forged off the midday sun,
which now hangs
in the horizon
taking with it
the curse of the unforgiven son.


Oh music that speaks
speaks and my heart listens
sticks to my heart
staining my blood
with a flood
of words and notes
random quotes
a synthetic happiness
that carries serenity
with every heartbeat
pumping the symphony
my head nodding in synchrony
drawing my conscious mind
and expelling it
drawing my unconscious mind out
and exposing it
exhausting free will
everything bursting at the seams
my essence trying to keep afloat
keep a coat on my ears
to stop my sway
for what she say
as the instruments play
is the lullaby
to a local
and a soft whisper
to a passerby
making me a cat’s whisker
in milk
floating without bearing
a mind
floating without soaring
a wordless poem
because every aspect of the song
talks of me raw
and rips my ability of expression

everytime everything loses meaning
i choose her singing
to help in peeling
my heart to sensitivity
and ridding the soot
and mud
of those boots
that once tread on it

my dad



i fold a collar.
i fold a dollar.
and neatly to my pocket.
hair kempt.
broad shoulders,
now holders
of hope
for more than me
the more i see
i dont see me
the mirror shows my dad
the distinuished chin he has
the deep voice
you heard when he spoke
the steady cough
when he choked
neat eyebrows
that seemed to revitalise
themselves every morning
The glow of knowledge
in his eyes
his speech
like a porridge trickle
slow but sure
heavy but pure
a face of stone
with an engraved smile
and a dry tear well
a heart
that swells
for family
and dwells
with company
of normal folk.
They give respect
none to mock.
a feeling of independence
earning by scar.
still searching for my star,
i walk this earth:
a heir
in the bloodline of greats.


modern day poetry… brand new nas..



Another class

She speaks of guidelines
to a wealthy life
of neatly pressed suits
well condensed hoots
in traffic
i bend to write
i bend in spite
for a society that faces me out
chases me out
of that elite bracket
i write not what she speaks
for wham i to blame when it sticks
this i write?
This school is feeding me
with ideologies
plastic democracies
so much pep
yet what i seek to embrace
is not in this haystack.

live on..

I live in darkness
lord i ask not for a lamp
i ask you to hold my tongue
that i may not drown the world
in my grief
i ask that you make me deaf
so i can hear not
of what i can never have.
Take away my sanity
and make my ignorance bliss
but let my pen live on
let all the words it wrote last
let them linger in the minds of those i live behind..