Author: James Musau

Tell my sister

Go tell my sister

May be she’ll understand you best

May be your language will be relative

May be your words will find refuge in the corners of her eardrums

May be your words will play drums for her

And she’ll dance to the music of such inspirational words

For a prophet is not respected at his own home ground


Tell my sister that bare feet today

Is not a guarantee for an empty shoe rack tomorrow

Remind her that insults never break bones

For the good things in life are cultivated for

The better things in life are predicated upon

But the best things in life happen unexpectedly


Tell my sister that hard work is the only force

That can make the indefinite life gain a definite shape

Remind her that life will only be less demanding

If she’s highly supplying


Tell my sister she at times has to shut up

Swallow her pride and accept to be taught

For only the humble are capable not to  fumble

With success

Remind her that all she knows might as well be the very things she knows

Nothing about in this life, so let her not hold on much to her knowledge


Tell my sister that she has to do things differently

Without fear of failure

For failure is never unique

But consistency is ever unique

For same things done differently is innovation

But similar things done the same way is imitation


Tell my sister that getting up late

Is the dominion of fate in the fullness of time

Remind her that habitual early risers are habitual

Mobilizers of every tennet of success

For an early bird eats first


Tell my sister that a brave warrior is not acknowledged

By the size of his spear but by the size of his sphere of influence

Remind her that life is not splendor but significance


Tell my sister that shame accrues the relatives of a mad man

When he gets to walk naked

But fame accrues an individual when he does something

Spontaneous and not his kinsmen

Remind her that the good she does is for her very own good


Tell my sister that he that melts her heart

Will also solidify it, it’s normal

Remind her that glue binds papers, cement binds bricks

But forgiveness always binds hearts together


Tell my sister that  sweets cause a bleeding gum

But illicit relationships cause a bleeding heart

Remind her that bad company ruins good morals


Tell my sister that success is not for everyone

But for anyone capable of containing it

Engrave it to her that luck is a result of preparation meeting opportunity

For the crown of success fits every head but only a prepared head gets

To wear it


Tell my sister never to lose hope in life

Unless hope loses her

For hope is always dope

With hope , life will cope to her being


Tell my sister always to embrace change in her life

For change will grant her every wings to fly

To every height beyond her reach

Remind her that nonsense will make sense

If sense is added to it


Tell my sister that to hide a boil that is under the armpit

Is unwise

Remind her that home is never far for one

Who is still alive

So she can always come home when  her home is the mouth of a shark

For she’s not a sinister child

Thank you

It’s a poem just meant to encourage the girl child on every aspect in life.

By James Musau


When freedom knocks

When we first heard of freedom

We put stress in free and we didn’t think of dom even for a second

The ground became prone to hailstones and it only could be fitting to set our feet where freedom had landed

We only could set hands on surfaces sanitized by freedom, so this “thing” has been in game way before

So our hearts begun beating for freedom as if  all along it had been beating around the bush

We couldn’t see anymore except with the lens of this freedom

So we couldn’t wait anymore for this “thing” to come by itself, we had to go for it

For more than a thousand triumphs, this thing would be dear to us

So dear citizens had to dare their feet to see if they’d run for it, hands if they’d fight for it, eyes to focus and see if they’d see things clear by the help of this lens

Although it claimed thousands of souls that were more dear to us that even a filled claim form wouldn’t assure us that they’ll be back

So dictionary and few elites around couldn’t make it  crystal clear unless this thing comes around and help us see through our charisma

Why didn’t they tell us of this doom when they tore our cheeks with excitement of freedom?

Was money the justice we demanded and reprimanded for?

Is Kariobangi not our home?

But ka hiyo ndio bangi, I wish the landlords knew this before when they struggled to shake no empty hands with the chiefs and bwana D.C  to let homes stand such soil and later host tomorrow’s nation

When they struggled to line up in banks to get loans they had no sure source to service them,

When cement, iron sheets and such could remain in the custody of such unscrupulous foremen who would busy their foreheads looking at their fat tummies and see they don’t shrink,

When the ministry of lands would always ask for something, I think these ministry should be termed as ministry of hands if we were to land at the truth

So their long term effort to push for legit earnings could just be repaid by a pull down by those hedgehogs

When the tenants that were civil servants but the pandemic reduced them to servants of God,

So if today’s president and stuff roam in limousine, let them know that tomorrow’s in roaming in the streets

And if he/she is in a five star hotel, let him/her know that tomorrow’s president is still pondering on where to find bins not to put dust but to sift for food, so he fears not leftovers but to be left over by friends who just found a bin

And if he/she is in a swimming pool, let him know that tomorrow’s president doesn’t know how to swim in a pool of blood in pursuit of food that won’t make him full


So the seats we were chasing for has made it clear that seats are nothing if we can’t table anything substantial and worthwhile for some citizen out there that cant afford a chair

Would these leaders say they know nothing about make ups when they develop areas of their own interest?

Hope they understand that this is cosmetic development

I wish they knew the meetings they shun because their pockets would be light

Make our hearts heavy of the plights we flunk to them


I thought that 18 was everything,

So with a few days to hit 18, i’d even call my nursery teacher and disapprove her that 18 is not just a number

For when mum would ask me to hold on at least when am 18 to do what she prohibited me to when young

I believed that would be my time, my second initiation that won’t require a doctor’s scalpel or scissors

I believed that was the time to make distant friends through Facebook as was told

Little did I know that the same Facebook would ask what was in my mind, so I fear answering this for my heart is heavy of my past that no one would mind listening or seeing through it

So when Instagram would ask for my photos, I wouldn’t answer because of the blows that this life has hit me and sun burns  trying to help mum set our table, so I have 18 years of perfected ugliness

So when what’s app asks for my status, I can’t answer this for my life is just full of puzzles I can’t solve

And I came to understand that the ID was not a proof of my adulthood but a reproof that I now have to set my own table soon

So the alcohol I thought was fit for an 18 year old was the same I saw it hallucinate many people’s dreams and always remained as dreams, I won’t dare mine

I came to know that this was the time to make good pilot and doctor as I once thought of or choose to doctorate my dreams

So am yet to come to terms with freedom

What is freedom?


It’s just a poem anyway

So freedom is the beginning of responsibility

And not an opportunity to enjoy life.

By James Musau







I met a police officer

At the sandy beaches, beneath the dancing palm trees

In a cool Sunday evening when it felt fresh even with abounding salty waters

Something I less expected happened, I met a police officer

And because I feared bullet wounds, I did nothing but just confoundedly stood there to listen to her flunk her allegations against me

For such were always known for such

So she accused me for killing her time for her schedule was already bending

She accused me of robbing her words for she had none in store to throw them to me as she did to other thieves who had tried to cross her lane

She accused me of marijuana because of the painting of weed on my beech shirt

And lastly treason, for only the white in the opera have all these cases on them altogether as me

So my dark skin sounded to her that may be I bleached dark because also my English wasn’t a replica of dark skin tone

And because time waits for no king, it had to wait her schedule and help put weight to my words

So she chained my hands because waiving good bye could be disastrous and would add sob upon agonizing sob if she’d go just like that

But stand there with crossed fingers to see if fate would convince her to oblige to my words

She chained my feet so I couldn’t head my way but stand there till my feeble legs would strengthen by the positive side of her words of return

She finally arrested my heart and I couldn’t feel any blood pumping but mesmerized on her popping possible pictures if things would lead the way


She finally put me on the police van, I see it in my mind

I see the ocs, a woman of iron

It would be lucky if head home with my head on my neck this day,

I think for the first time the temperature has shooted it’s bullet to ninety degrees

She asks of me to give her fully documented evidence that her daughter won’t starve in the waste land we call home

I just  nod that things would be cool


Now in the court room,

From this side of the court room, I’ll speak the truth no need of a bible

I’ll even give my words a title, your honor

Infact no need of these chains, I won’t escape

She pressing so close with her pillowry bossom is already a barricade

Please prosecutor charge me of love, am in for it

But your honor, ask this woman that if mummy would be happy,

She’d be the impulse behind the thick of it

Ask her that because mummy was bitten by the sun to make at least it’s rays glitter something into our empty plates

She herself won’t beat around the bush but would play the music of mummy’s intoning words and let it’s rythm bring smiles worth while because mummy has been through alot and it’s just by God’s she’s not through with  this life

And because  I saw mummy out do herself only to in keep us, your honor, let this woman attest that she’d even go to space to bring the moon down for those kids so they’d understand that the sky is never a limit

And because I’ve come from a puzzled background that doesn’t understand the true meaning of relatives,

Let her write to me soon to attest that she’ll make a good aunt, wife and more

Thank you!


It’s just a poem anyway,

Enjoy your week and please login to for more poems and also never mind to ask me of a special dedicational poem, I won’t hesitate to scribble down one for you my funs

Am here to write and inspire, have a blessed week

By James  Musau



She always treads far from home to make us be far from hunger
The sun always hard on her to make life easier on us
And when going doesn’t keep her because the work is hard,
She always keeps going and works hard
I never see sweat roll down her chin but flowers instead
So the is always the impulse behind her resilience
And her skin the reservoir of hope and life
With hard work, she adorns our table of life with flowers
But with love, care and faith, a banquet rests at at that table
So rose will always say that valentine is never once a year for us
Although born and bread in slums,
Bread and butter has never been a vocabulary
I’ll say more on her in next slam fest
I always admire the fact that she lives her life as long as her life doesn’t leave her
The fact that when we busy listening to good music,
She’s always listening to the monotonous music of our tummies empty of hope
And her rythimic hard work always breaking the monotony
The fact that when we always thinking of going abroad, she always thinks on broadways to make our days festive
And always on supa loaf and maybe kingsmill will for once make our meals sumptuous
So that even when we fail to know how it feels to live in a palace
We’d always feel how it feels like to dine like a kingsmen
The fact that when we busy watching movies, she’s busy pondering on the next move
To maximize her capabilities
But having done her best
And when I take after her
And maybe care for her in her last days as she on my first days
So when I get to walk, I’ll let her sit and see me hunt
I’ll climb every tree and bring every fruit down for her
So she always live with passion, glow like an orange in the market
And understand that she’s loved like mangoes in summer
And if she’ll want fish, I’ll be there to fly to the deep and bring it for her
And even dive to air and have the dove right at her hand
And maybe refine the air air seven times, so she’ll always breath fresh air
I want to need to make life better by setting her foot at Westlands
I can as well help her make the most out of our wastelands
I won’t need to go to middle east to have her eat
For the sun also shines at the South gate of hopelessness
So one has to choose either to busk or make hay
And when she begins to live on nun
I’ll be there to provide milk
So she’ll not have to wait till heavens come for milk and honey
She have all that here under the sun
And she’ll understand that she’s the everest that stands in our hearts
And her love will ever mount hope into our hearts than all the rest under the sun
And maybe she loaned us her time and commitment
For she’s the China we know
Thank you.


James Musau

Sweet memories

I miss those days, I miss them alot
The days when music was my mursik
Although nandi hills were just hillarious to see them at the atlas
The days when the many sons and daughters of father Abraham would always row the boat gentle down the stream
And of course I was one of them
So we’d always pamper our dreams of being doctors and pilots by first being captains
The days when even though we’d school at the village,
We’d always go to town with the old man of Koleo
So if we’d fail to match our school uniforms,
We’d match the unison of sound music we ourselves made
When I’d always abscond muthokoi at home to play with Muthoni and be satisfied
When we’d always task to play till dusk
And no reprimand or cane would hold us back
But not now with this curfew and excruciating music and manner of life
But our parents would have to understand we still were immature thinking
Maybe doctors and pilots would be us
Or maybe we’ve discovered other careers
That even doctors would have to understand our sick mind and silky hands to thrive everything
I miss those days, missing them alot
When we’d role models into different shapes
But not now when role models role us into different models that can stand on any dais
So after many days, i miss that pencil for the wrongs it made were made right by the eraser
How we’d always bulk-break them and and no ink would spill
The days when we’d look up to wrestle after classes and make things clear
When we didn’t go much to school for books alone but hot porridge and afternoon sleep
I miss those days, missing them alot
The days when staying at home was unsafe
So we’d always go swim in a distant river and not busk in the sun
For the sun is not that safe for any son
But not these days with all these effluent in the same rivers
Could they channel there affluence to our rivers of poverty?
We’d even swim at the middle of the night for the waters would be warmer
The days when we’d go hunt birds only to gladen our taste buds
Just to missing the green days we’ve been going through
When we’d unleash the joy of owning a T.V set
But flooding the neighborhood, not with waters of course
Just for that one movie for a master up of that one move to up our game
In the next battle after tomorrow’s classes
And we’d agree that the neighbor’s wall was great
For we’d look up to it every evening and not the size, shape or depth of the sufuria
But not now with when everyone has to take good care of his t.v set against theft
The days when not even our parents owned phones although the were smart with that
And they would book space at the booth
But not now when we dirty but have smart phones
Although I reckon those days, the present is of no gift I bet
How are you tommorow?
Still pitying the coming generation
If all these have shade off
Thank you


James Musau

If the tree grows again

If the tree grows again
I won’t have to wait for it’s seasoned fruits
Love, peace and unity in the pieces I write would be such fruits
I’ll stand in the light, so people would always hung around for shade
And be the tree they climb way to the top
I’d understand why Steve Biko would stand tall
So if with black skin, pure life was would come
Try diplomacy and maybe the nazi way if diplomacy would hit Hitler’s wall
So he fought those he’d not fight and wouldn’t join them
I wouldn’t blame his allies but just his roots
So if the tree is to stand tall, the roots must learn to go deep, I learn
Biko’s effort are the blackberries we eat today
So with all their rifles, charm and resilience, we’ve never heard of whiteberries
If the gets to grow again,
I’ll tend it’s shoots, prune when time is come
Do whatever it takes to the top, grin myself only to ensure that it’s leaves are ever green and fruits ever abounding
I’d tell her how I failed to listen to my parents when they’d tell me
To stay home and school at home and my days would be holy
But such would always choke and would disgrace my holidays
So I’d go out, not to play, but enjoy my youth which I knew not would grace with a fat tummy
So even my hoods didn’t smart me again, for parenthood was the parenthesis standing between me and my dreams
But I’ll tender and mend her, so she’ll become the doctor I dreamt I’d be
So this gender won’t be blamed anymore
I’ll tell her of the female chartered companies in the globe
But also remind her of the shattered dreams slipped off by female characters who are always at will enjoying their youth
I’ll tell her of how my life has been like a glowing splint
That at the beginning of things, fire was sure to start
But my youthful stats deeped the splint in cool waters that never quenched my youth, I’ll tell her all my wrongs
So she’ll have to learn from my wrongs and run to her correct self
So if for the least of things I didn’t make it to carpentry,
I’d once remember hitting the nail at the head
Thank you


James Musau

Who’s gonna tell you

Comes riding on a borrowed bike,
Few coins only to buy chips or corns to pop your smile
At least crocodile chips made physics practical like ruby on rails
And not such chips that only bring you closer to the mouth of a shark
School uniforms just conforming to the history written in the dark
Consistency in perusing books will have parents liken your drive
And would refer there children to this Grace that is smart in books despite Google not taking even one note of her
But standing beside beside bikes would just disgrace yourself, oooh sister Grace
Stop saying that he’s heavenly sent for he pampers you with exurbent love
Understand that a child on pampers is forced to pee in the potty when time is come
Why should his music drive you crazy
When Jemutai is busy thrilling her sanity with mursik?
Please sister mind your mental health
Am not standing between you and your hurricane ways
Am just reminding you that the lift you always are in pursuit of
Won’t be an assurance that he’ll lift you up when dressing up, so elevate yourself
In line with that, he won’t rift you and your now fattening tummy
And neither will he lift the ban when dad insists on a send off
So go back and love your books
Thank you


James Musau

If tomorrow comes

If tomorrow comes, I’ll learn how to stand, see walk, talk, I’ll learn everything
I’ll teach my body how to function its functions
So if my eyes can see, closer or further
Tomorrow my eyes will learn to see opportunities and jump for them not people
So tomorrow my feet will be fit enough to stand in the light not just anywhere
So when I see my shadow I’d believe at least am somewhere doing something under the sun
My feet would learn to chase dreams and not friends and their charms, so when my morning is come, I’ll have nothing to mourn about
But will behold what was all along in my dreams
So, my heart not just to beat for anything and store up grudges
But beat for the sky till it’s no longer a limit and make failure an explicit content
So if my hands were privileged to roll models, turn pages and roll even more chunks and chunks of ugali
Tomorrow they’ll have to learn how to get hold of opportunities
And they won’t sieze to knock even the offices that fate dictates won’t have them in
So my nose won’t be for nosing around other people’s affairs but nose around creativity and be abreast with time, listen to the tickles of my itchy heart for success
So will not pass with time but will send spasms to the sky that am almost there
So my mouth won’t be much into eating, complaining and discussing people
But into discussing ideas, saying I can and preaching hope to myself
So I’d at least I’d know how it feels to be a pastor and not just an imposter of fate
So my beards will have nothing to do with flourishing ages but a replica of hours and hours of hard work and commitment
So the world will have to understand that maturity is not the size of the loins or strength of the pubis symphysis
But change of how one sees, where he stands, how he walks, what he chases
All body functions and senses
If the day after the day after tomorrow comes
When I’d not boast of hair styles but would always bliss my kangols or god fathers
I won’t have to narrate what I’ve heard and had in life
But what I’ve done to make life alive
I won’t complain on how tough life has been
But what I did however tough to make my dough, what I did to boost my odds at such an odd time
So when friends would complain of their walking sticks,
Sticks won’t be a thing new to me, for I used to stick to the rule of the game
So when I warm my bench, it’ll be nothing for I cooled my feet for years
It’s just a poem anyway
Don’t wait for body changes to understand maturity
For the greatest tragedy in life is that tomorrow will always see today’s mistakes
So will eyes, you’ll always see new stuff and new paths in life
Thank you


James Musau


Wait was the last sentiment

With so much weight for this bait

Although adjustment is advancement,

Such patience was not going to make things straight


Ambition was the only ammunition she had

To fight all that was all along had

Adversity sounded as a forever and ever ambush

But hardwork was a forever endeavor to clear the bush of poverty


She only could inherit education

But those who could give a hand took no action

Coming to this leader’s office from time to time found no help to avail

All of it was utter derail


At times patience sounded as if

Climbing a tree to have fish

And going to the deep for beef

All of which bring nothing to the dish


Finally she had a glimpse of that leader

What a relief at last seeing a ladder?

She spilled it out

Spilled that life was hard

But wait was the last word she was told

And he left

She now could escort other kids to school by her eyes

But her feet was to remain at home

Although it already was in the month of March

By James Musau

My wife

My wife was older than me

My wife was bolder than me

Her utterance was always a wisecrack

But my ribs wouldn’t crack

Her iron back would always Cobalt my efforts

And together we’d enjoy the little bronze we had


My wife used to tell me that living in a palacial home is nothing

If am unwilling to leave my peasant mind

So our neighbors will always envy our muddy house

And on top of owning their storey buildings

They owned a story about us


My wife used to tell me that physical ability

Is not determined by muscle size

But by mental perspective

She’d insist that going to the gym is nothing

If my mind had no bisceps to bind goals and opportunities together

And trisceps to make trials in life


My wife told me that the greatest aim in life is to limit the sky

And never to let it be a limit

She’d add that with ragged boots am to aim at the goal

And my bowl shall never fail


My wife told me that health is not determined by what cooks in the pot

But by what cooks in the mind

She added that the size of the head is not a determinant of the size of the mind

But you’ll have to mind your head before you hit the wall


My wife told me that it’s more proud to make life out of it

Than to make it in life

She’d add that am to use the little I have and I’ll get the more I don’t have

For the law of life is multiplication under the hands of care and hope and not addition

My wife told me that if I put stress in words , I’d pronounce them well

But if I put it in mind I’ll denounce myself

She’d add that only an empty man would argue with a fool


One she told me that if I need to trek at twilight ,am to run at dawn

But the cause of running at twilight is that I walked at dawn

So I’d mould my own life


My once told me that she’d leave me and go far beyond the earth

But I won’t believe for her maternal home was a mixture of bitter herbs

But how could she leave without me gracing her finger with a diamond ring?

But I guess she left knowing that my heart will always ring for her

May peace rest in her where she be

Even if this picture is the only memory of her existence

Thank you


By James Musau



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