What About Your Seed?

I never meant to have you.

Neither was it my intent to drown you.

At sea? allow me to explain myself.

See, when she frantically told me she was thirty two weeks due,

your then host noticed something in my eyes, similar to a dew.

Due to which, she figured I didn’t find patrihood partly good.

She was right.

Now hold up…before you slam the gavel, find below my alibi.

There’s a reason I felt you weren’t ready for the zebra toy-

frankly, ’cause I couldn’t afford it.

And child, what’s the use of the sun getting out of bed,

when the hay isn’t yet made?

And despite her name, a rose never rose from concrete.

Similarly, has a sunflower ever bloomed in darkness?

The point I’m getting at is this;

I had always wished for your comfort by the time it’s your birthday

but since wishes aren’t horses,

at seventeen, I couldn’t gallop fast enough to reach my wish.

I hope you understand.

But how can you understand

yet your fit little feet never once earned a stand?

I’ll help you understand what I understand first hand.

The sight of peers pedaling

and yourself not, can pierce terribly.

And when you reach for the snob’s BMX,

it’s always bound to be a mess.

Yes, children too can become cold!

And when the weather becomes children,

you’d have needed a thick fluffy fabric, preferably linen.

From the horse’s mouth stomach this, never once did cold get lenient.

Oh and did I mention the cries of hunger?

The Caged Bird Sings, not of elation

but of pangs of the prevalence of privations.

Aliyeumwa na nyoka, akiona ung’ong’o huogopa.

At seventeen, a mere teen,

Who could hardly fend for self,

leave alone fend for a friend;

holding flesh of flesh and blood of blood in arm,

I couldn’t get my mind off the ultimate result of harm.

So I actualized it.

I killed you out of love.

Why Didn't You Care

For what else would a loving parent wish for their child

besides a better life?

And if religion is anything to go by,

I’m certain heaven is offering you that.

So innocent, flawless and clean a slate,

I beckoned you early to the pearly gates

before the slate got stained.

I’m older now and if a free verse

Could reverse

Your hearse,

I’d crack the genuine smile I miss.

Happy Birthday child.


I’m Malignant

So helplessly on a hospital bed best friend lay,

The only connection between her and life-the IV

Before the twilight of this lay it’s only right that I say

That best friend’s first name was Ivy.

Perhaps it’s not coincidental that even Dennis is a dentist.

So there she lay, silent as the graveyard that was in the offing.

Often times the doctor placed a stethoscope on her chest

and the placid expression on doc’s face had me thinking she was just taking a rest.

Though the ER seemed strange with all the dummies of breasts.

“Jeeze! what’s with all the dummies of breasts?”

I whispered to myself, rendering the window pane moist.

The clock at the bay  hit the God-hour, paving way for visitors,

So I took stride and stride towards the door

then I was before the doc’s eyes.

The dark side of this anecdote

is that all the antidotes were in futility.

So when he asked “Are you religious son?”

“I am prayerful”, came my answer.

He said “Good, because it doesn’t look so good”.

“And in your prayers, I hope your words aren’t always self-centered,

because in summary,”

he proceeded “your friend’s about to succumb to cancer of the mammary”


In retrospect, I perhaps was one of the malignant cells.

“Will you accompany me to the gym?” she once asked.

“No, come help me finish composing this hymn” rushed out my response.

“Besides, it’s like taking coal to new castle ’cause to me you’re already slim”

I kept on.

“Hey, will you walk me three and a half kilometers to the supermarket?”

I remember her ask.

“No, a ride will be faster than a bullet out a musket”

Out snuck my answer.

“Best friend, I have this craving for veggies, cereals and…whole foods”

She said once.

“No, let’s stick to the usual soft drinks and burgers, don’t have time to cook”

That was me answering.

“Hey don’t you think we should cut down on the booze?”

She suggested a few years ago

“No! No! No way!, It’s a cold world and at the bottom of each bottle lies warmth”

I replied.

“Hey, I’ve had my first born son, breast or bottle feed, which one is tick?”

She bubbly said, little Brian gently held in her arms.

“Lest you want saggy tits, feed him with the bottle”

There came my answer.

“Hey…aammh, my mammogram reveals that it’s a positive”

She recently told me with tears rolling down her cheeks.

It’s only then that the proverbial prevention is better than cure hit me.

Ever since then, I’d rather my recipe be not so tasty,

Than not so healthy.

I’d rather get tipsy than drunk, but I hope to mingle with sobriety.

My heart bleeds to all victims of breast cancer.

But it’s never over until it’s over.

Even Angelina is still Jolly after the double mastectomy.

Each one must teach one how to live a healthy life.

In summary, friends should hardly succumb to cancer of the mammary.