Musings

For all the Poetry Lovers out there, this is pure gold. I’m not the author and he asked me to use his pseudonym which is Demas, just spend some time this evening going through these poems I promise you will not regret it…

Unseen Hands
Unseen hands, unseen thoughts
like unseen people that time forgot
Mingling but not quite
Solving but not right
Spiraling like swallows in mating season
Growing like grass without rhyme or reason
Unseen hands that caress in the dark
Unseen thoughts that delight in the acts
Unseen hands, unseen thoughts

Reborn
I have come back
Led by my conscience
like a carrot on a stick
asking for forgiveness and
pleading for mercy, crying out
in monosyllabic intervals I
recant my past beliefs and
form a new alliance with you
Rape of Tamar
A moment of consciousness erased at will
erased to forget the unforgivable sin
As hands groped in the dark-forcing, hurting
so came the fear- making her weak, weary
The feeble attempt to fight, fighting nothing in the end
Nothing to think about, not even revenge
The greatest gift stolen in minutes
leaving only a body, a shell without feeling.

My only wish
I would like to write a poem
No, I would like to write three!
Like Standa, Rubadiri, but most of all
Like Karamagi
I would like to write a poem
And add on another two
that will perplex all critics –
Confound the fools!
But most of all,
I would like to write a poem
A poem that is pure
clear as crystal in its message
and with a mystique allure.
I’d like to write a poem
that would delve deep into your soul
Stir in you a passion
Because I gave it my all.

Seldom Said
I was witness to the atrocity
Once again!
The beheading of the fresh corn,
The slaughter of the prized cock,
The bleeding of a new sore:
The death of a young man.
Another arrow in my quiver, stolen
A post in my house, broken
A cornerstone in my foundation,
cracked.
His hopes and dreams
Now all buried –
Literally!
When shall it all stop?
All this bickering.
Black paint cannot wash itself off!
This competition for sunshine
Each wanting its buds to be kissed
by the pure ethereal warmth first.
There are lessons to be learnt
Poems to be written
Demonstrations to be staged
But until then
I shall witness the atrocities
Again!

To The Vine dresser
Prune me, remove from me
All that is there
May my branches be laden
With the fruit I will bear
Prune me and move me
Closer to the light
Weed out all weeds
Remove fruit with blight
Support me with sticks, also help me stretch
Water me and mulch me
Fill me with strength
Show me how I should grow
Don’t let me decide
Protect me from the Devour-er
Tend to me with pride.
The Awful Horror
The handsome face,
The million-dollar smile
The sensual voice
The Awful Horror
The well groomed hair
The manicured hands
The vibrancy and flair
The Awful Horror
He calls himself god
He calls himself king,
In his dazzling clothes,
The Awful Horror
The icy stare
The devilish grin
The prince of the air
The Awful Horror
He’ll gain power as said
Get fatally wounded
And raise himself from the dead
The Awful Horror
He’ll lie and deceive
Through oppression and dictatorship
He’ll make others believe
The Awful Horror
He’ll torture and kill
All without his mark
All Jews and all who don’t believe
In The Awful Horror
But he’ll be struck from power
Chained for a thousand years
In a pit of brimstone and fire
The Awful Horror

Mind bloke!
A closed up mind is a writer’s hell
Like broken eggshells,
very hard to mend.
The words –
like a snake charmer to his own
You need to coerce them in song
Ease down their stubbornness and
release their hold,
that they may gush out and break
their banks,
and in keeping his hand flowing,
the writer passes on his regards.
I miss you
Flashes in my mind
are causing me to experience
psychotic relapses.
The beginnings of a memory
Birthed in deep meditation,
echo in vast, dark caverns of thought
as I try to remember your healing touch,
Your sensual kiss or
seductive embrace that
I felt upon my heart.
Except, I can’t
Oh, what I would give
To feel the warmth in your eyes
To smell the musk in your hair
Or the coarseness of your garment
against my cheek.
What I would give for your acceptance once more.
I’d give my soul

The Harvest
Sometimes its hard to accept the fact
All revelation will soon come to pass
See all the pain, witness the death
inflicted by the demons and beast from the depths.
So I pray for sinners in towns and in the wild,
pray for my wife and unborn child,
pray for my dad his appetite for drinks,
pray for that Muslim and all his ideals,
pray for my mom that she may see the light
to realize there is more than making money to life,
pray for my brothers that their lives may be touched
if only they read the ‘Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth’,
pray that the Lord may restore my sis
because since she was raped she has not found peace.
Then I pray for my self, for boldness and faith
To proclaim the Word to the ends of the earth.

Mary’s song
The unborn baby’s moving
Like he’s ready to be born,
He’s time is nearing
I can feel it.
Through all the pain and anguish
I feel elated in my soul
He is nearing,
He is nearing.
Who am I to bear this son of mine
So pure, so undefiled
This King,
This royalty
How could I rock my son to sleep
Knowing he’ll die for me,
Why me?
Tell me, why me.

OIL AND WATER: the samaritan
The fury
the pure hate
unforgiveness.
The anger
relentless
the stabbing
the beating
the blood
the cuffs
the kicks
Stops.
The pity
the Pride
the remorse
the Ignorance
the empathy
the empathy
the Fear.
The soiled hands
the dirty palms
the ripping of a robe.
Oil,
to dress my wounds
Wine,
to awaken my spirit
Love,
to revitalize my soul
Tears,
to wash away my anger.
Penance paid
a debt gained
a life saved
a lesson learned.

JINA LAKO SILIJUI
You remind me,
Of deep, still water
when I look into your eyes.
You remind me,
Of a stream, cascading on rocks
when I hear you laugh.
You remind me,
Of smooth, polished ivory
when I touch your skin.
You remind me,
Of the ocean, its comforting waves
when I think of being in your arms.
You remind me,
Of satin sheets and scented petals
when I imagine you in mine.
You remind me,
Of ice cold water
when it comes to your wit.
You remind me,
Of sweet, succulent fruit
when I kiss your lips
You make me act on instinct
I never think twice,
and though you’re not an object
I wish you were mine.

WHERE WE ARE FROM
An awakening,
A rebirth.
The death of a seed
to bring forth a shoot
The death of a worm
to bring forth a butterfly
The wasting away of a cloud
to bring forth rain
Of cotyledons, to create and set root.
The death of a dumb spirit
to bring forth a poet.

MY DEAREST…
Love me,
for myself not
for what I have
done.
Love me,
because of my uniqueness
not because
I walk like someone else.
Love me,
for my gifts and also
my faults
Don’t love me because
in me you see the ‘us’
potential most
Love me,
when I am lethargic
lazy and fat
if you do this, you are an artist
because loving is an art.
HEART SONG
It the hymn of my life
A testament of my living
Its lyrics speak of my past
and give a clue to my future.
When I am lonely,
I sing it in my mind.
When I am angry,
I sing it in my heart.
When I am tired,
it soothes my soul.
I don’t care if it
doesn’t rhyme
but I sing it in earnest
for its simplicity
and truth.

MY SECRET LOVE
I wish I could,
stake a claim to your heart and
call it my own.
I wish I could,
be close when you are upset
and wipe your tears away.
I wish I could,
hold you close to my person
fill my senses with your scent.
I wish I could,
kiss your lips, your fingertips
and show you how much I care.
I wish I could,
be the one, the only one
who dwells within your thoughts.
I wish I could,
tell you, of all I cherish
I love you the most.
As a candle flame, I flicker
I flicker for all the winds of destiny
are against me.
I have tried to quell the clamour of my soul
to quench these flames that rage on for you
to exonerate myself from this passion I have
for you.
I have failed.
I want you even more.
I long to run my fingertips
down your cheek, your nose, your chin
I long to look deep into your eyes
that we may be one again.
I long to hold you
as we watch the sun set
and feel it warm our skin.
As it grows even colder
I hold you tight and whisper
“I want to be more than your friend.”

ON THE CROSS
In retrospect,
I can say it’s gone well.
I have followed protocol,
beaten paths,
instructed the willing ear.
I showed the unknown,
did the signs,
dried the tear,
taught the love,
held the broken heart.
All I can say now is,
“It is finished.”

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2 Comments

  1. Great read! Let the author know I enjoyed it very much!

    Like

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