Hope

The one that decides most suicides.

The one that whispers to your ears “tomorrow’ll be okay”,

yet if you put so much hope in hope,

you easily lose trust in hope,

’cause truth is, not all tomorrows will be okay.

But tomorrow I know I’ll again be fool of hope

when she whispers that the day after tomorrow will be okay.

How does she do that?

 

Hope is the one behind placebo pills,

Mr. Doc don’t dare claim ownership!

but for the hope in placebo capsules the patients would have lost it

as other hopeless ones hop in.

 

Hope is the reason your love didn’t broach the queer cologne last night.

Doesn’t mean she didn’t smell it, she just hoped it wasn’t it.

Hope is why you dared go home smelling it in the first place,

hoping she won’t notice it, but she did.

One day she might have enough of hope.

Might be the day you lose hope in love. Tragic.

Thank hope for promiscuity.

 

light

 

Hope is why some wrinkles show sooner than others,

some smiles come slower than others,

her trust came easier than hers.

Hope isn’t kind to most drunks.

The bar booms in hopelessness.

Did I mention that I lose hope every now and then?

Hope is everything. She’s religion, psychology…

oh look, like me,ecology is losing hope!

Hope is healthy. When hope leaves your heart,

you get an attack.

 

God thrives in hope. Good thrives in hope.

 

 

Advertisements

Not to Show Love

I choose not to show love.

Doesn’t mean within I don’t yield love

but is expression of it worth it, when they always target your loved ones?

I’ve done dirt in the past

and I can’t show them you’re the one I love

because my victims might snatch you from me at any time.

 

I choose not to show love,

for what good is expression of love,

when mere likes repel?

She learned that I love her, then started to rebel.

She liked me, but disliked me when I reached out to her heart for more.

Perhaps she had already chosen not to show love.

cupid

 

I choose not to show love,

for I know how it feels to be robbed off love.

I’d rather go back to my dirt,

in my loved ones hearts leaving no traces of it.

No love relics.

In that way, I’ll spare my loved ones the weight of missing me once I perish.

 

I choose not to show love,

for the person you love mirrors who you are. But mirrors break.

With blood, dirt, shit and all filth my hands are filled.

And with my touch, I don’t wanna get your tender, chubby cheeks blemished.

Besides, I’m not even certain that your heart beats in the same rhythm as mine.

That’s why I choose not to show love.

This Man!

He emphasizes his words whenever he says “You’re pretty”,

but somehow always forgets to COMPLIMENT that with “,kind and caring”.

When you’re hurt, he’s quick to hug as “comfort”.

But feel his heart, does it feel pity?

And when talking to him, if your eyes were around your chest,

he’d probably reciprocate the way his, you stare.

 

You let him inside, but he’s more about making love than feeling love.

But can a player juggle the pitch & the terrace to feel his own game’s thrill?

You think & tell him how man he is. His reply, “nice curves you have’’.

Your love is genuinely from within, but he only bills for your body in the deal.

Unfortunately, you love him so much that this fact you can’t see.

 

Oh look what we have here; a bigger behind, & a slender waist.

You trace a glow on his face, but his face isn’t facing you.

You try reaching him, but your calls he won’t pick anymore.

He found a more physically appealing deal and you’re left fading into his history.

A man of many tastes, is a man who wastes. He’s one you should detest.

You got bitten on first experience. But how could you have known ooh innocent ewe!

 

 

The Eyes

Another reason to give thanks for the eyes

is that; they always defy plots by the smile

to hide traces of inner hate and despise.

Windows to some souls ooze bitterness than bile

while precious ones are as clean as a newborn’s slate.

Understandably, no one loves everything.

It is absolutely stupid to hide hate,

unless you’ll always wear shades, you’re doing nothing.

Disguised despise is not wise despise for one;

can only sweep dirt under the carpet cloth

till the carpet itself dirties. No one won.

Blatant hate is better hate, better yet-loathe.

As we embrace, you probably think I bug.

Too bad that eye can’t see your eyes as we hug.

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.