Wonderful God


Wonderful God

If somebody would ask me to explain God’s vastness, greatness and faithfulness

So with an empty account, I’d give account of what I’ve seen Him do, balance His love and grace and that would be my account balance

So he keeps relentless regardless of my shortcomings that if longcomings was to find space in the dictionary, then it would mean a whole bunch of His character and glory

So to me, He’s more than Nike, He corrects everything that on the wrong, so with Him by your side there’s nothing wrong even with an empty shoe rack let alone bear feet or shoes without some tick

So when Airtel grants affordable rates of 2 bob per minute on calls across any network, it’s pretty clear that nothing is charged of me when dialing into heaven even for hours or some good minutes

So when safaricom would always be there for fuliza option so that I may server my financial obligations, He’s always there to provide for me without accrediting me to any forthcoming debt, Uliza nani how I paid his debt without hesitation for God was there to provide

I think He’s the inspiration behind adidas, so when some things are beyond our ability like adding a minute to our span of life, He’s always spinning every trouble of ours within no hours for to Him “impossible is nothing”

We all need Him as the pure oxygen to meander in our ventricles, nerves and valves so that it won’t hurt when tribulations hurt our hearts for He’ll be there to throw them asunder by His right hand of righteousness

When I was empty and decolorized by troubles, He were there to color me, so He’s crown, I like it, I crown such amaizing acts

So when my hands were deep soaked in sin for such hurricane ways, He washed me clean than ariel ASAP clean in a single wash, and not even downy can prove such a soft touch,

So when am busy listening to music, music is busy listening to Him, ask the music of the raging sea, He stopped it with no use of a remote control or turning the volume switch to min and a click sound would prove out of bound

God is great even when poetry grows grey

He’s wonderful even when such words wander to find meaning

Thank you

By James Musau



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Burring a sun


Burring a sun

She was sober enough even with an inflated tummy, frequent pukes, slow walks and fat feet

So she was like an israelite, the uncertainties of the wilderness was nothing to do with the joy and allotries awaiting for her in Canaan

So mummy would be her fourth name she’d identify with even if her identity card would be small enough to hold on to the fact that she was one

Infact nine moons were nothing to deject her and if she had some sovereign ability to pull time, she’d do so for she believed that good things take time and that a full cycle would create something remarkable

Infact labor pains sounded like favor pains for it banged her mind that exceeding joy was coming, not by her giving birth as such but joy birthing broad cheeks for her

So she was amongst the first people on earth to set hands on joy for her child was tangible you see,

So she wasn’t a bouncing baby boy, but a bouncing baby mama for she was bouncy of hope and joy knitted together

From nymph, larva, pupa, the insect would be full enough, mature enough to fly unjudged of the size of the wings or the size of the landing surface,

So she believed that her toddler will attend school she herself was unfortunate to set foot on, try through thick and thin to light the candle from both ends so her child would have a bright start

So with a tight schedule and murphy’s law would be a proven worth to fix the dents tougher than gaviscon double action,

So if the child would be used to a stick brush, mummy would be the sensodyne she’d recommend dentists to

So the years drew open to close infancy by the open doors of some classroom for the child,

Although in some local school, the uniform was world-class, sewn from hope and love knitted from mother to child

But who’s time, time grew faster than the child himself and soon he was celebrating his fourteenth birthday, so if she’d opted to start some company, would be celebrating fourteenth anniversary

And if the world was to give her a name, her fourth name would be celebrity for her compitence would be doubtful if she were to attend a job interview but not that pertaining pain, persistence and parenthood

Poverty is not an attendant in every man’s restaurant of life but puberty is always the boiling point of every man’s chemistry of life

So he was now not in the kindergarten, primary but secondary school, so primarily things took another course of youthfulness full of emptiness to distinguish good from evil

So she came to understand why a football coach talks more and is more tactical during half time for solid come back and glamorous results,

So she talked more, thought more and sifted more/some nuggets of wisdom, so to her skill set she now was becoming a very good motivational speaker

So she was now not rolling models for him but rolling him for herself that if he wouldn’t make a good son, she’d tailor an impeccable mother

Time pushed him for another two years when in a secondary school, years of self discovery and curiosity over anything

So he was weird, feared and all were now adding up to shambles in sheer youthfulness

So he didn’t want school anymore although school was busy beckoning him for him, but he wouldn’t because the course of school in him was not in game

He was weird although many at times “am ok” were his words not to mummy alone but to daddy, uncles and friends

He was ok, ok to be out of school and advice out of his to do list,

It wasn’t after a week or month, my memory about it is fazzy, but I won’t forget that mummy found a suicide note, don’t ask me what happened, it’s yet row to deep a finger in this scar

So he passed, passed the examination of self doubt, trauma and stoism,

He failed, failed to understand when problems are shared, every word meets a direct solution and life becomes a rhyme of truth and reality and that’s the rhythm of sound mind we’d dance so ears would shine not with earrings but with earphones of hope and change

So sodomy and bullying at school convinced him to take his life and give it to sheol before burning coals and hailstones of any unforeseen shortcomings befell him, ase far as soddom and gomorrah are concerned,

So it’s easy, easy to accept cookies in a website and even tread miles to buy cookies in some distant bakery, but its hard to accept burrying a sun

An heavenly body to represent you in the sky when your feet are feeble to chase the sky and stand high above

How do you burry a son even if you know how to catch some shovel and throw soil on a casket of one who was to bring home some shopping basket when time is come?

How do you burry a sun when it’s yet dawn and wet and the tears of push are yet row and only his hands are fit enough to wipe away the tears?

So she wept of the hole he left in her heart, and maybe be God knew it kept the heart on the left chest for things have not been right since then,

Thank you

By James Musau



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If truth was Human

If truth had a face and walk side by side with men,

Even if she’d stuff her face with powder, make good use of the mirror standing on the wall, choose a fitting deodorant and do what need be done to look calm and collected,

Even if she’d look for the best in a boutique to look unique and fabulous and ensure every eye escorts her everywhere she goes so she won’t be lonely,

Even if she were to have Nike, Fila, gucci and adidas in her closet to ensure the sole of her feet would always step in some reputable shoe brand or even see to it that her heels would always be on heels and make her feel high always

That even if nobody says Hi to her in the course of the day, she’d always be high,

Even if her ventricles would be big enough to carry somebody in heart,

What if she’d chose to stay natural, make good use of some milking jelly, not to milk herself but to blaze her skin,

Forget about deodorants, powder and anything that may be in stock in some beauty parlor,

Be on long dresses that everywhere she goes the ground may feel touched even without the presence of a broom,

Walk on slippers or some worn out rubber shoes without any brand name?

The truth would be that even in a beauty peagant, no man or woman would notice her moves

So truth is always cutting through a man’s state of mind and only her knows what rings in a man’s heart even with a ring on his third- left finger

It only takes sacrifice and commitment to pick her as the only one


If truth would have her name in some ballot papers,

With meaningful manifestos, quotes and speeches to steer every mind that would put a touch in some ballot boxes to make voters fresher than garments soaked with a touch of downy,

Even if she’s to have a one on one talk with every voter within the borders of the country, that would be for her own endearing exploration and not a strategy to win ticks beside her name,

So the ballot foxes would for the first time speak the truth that no tick appeared beside her name,

Nobody picked her, so we all queue at 5am in the morning to approve of another five years of scam in the name of “kitu kidogo” when our own lives are something bigger that can’t be magnified even with a light microscope

So Mahatma Gandhi knew way before that a country with poor governance means it’s people are well represented, it’s now not new even to us


If truth was a road, it would be the road less traveled,

So even with tarmac, lights aligned measurable side to side of it to make it clear of no harm and not just meer light to make a niddle visible at wee hours,

People would have it as no option but to flunk in deception lane even if they know it’s a black spot and would stop at nothing but  won’t risk to show off their incompetence,

In the name of certificates plus tokens  issued below some desk

Thank you

By James Musau


Happy new poetic month



What a miss?

She opened the door for her brother which wasn’t a bother as such

So he came in to put up with her until when he’d find his own feet to chase his viable dreams, so he wasn’t here to lodge a day or two

He was lucky, lucky because most of us when we first set our feet in the heart of the city, the only brothers and sisters we’d relate with were those in some catholic we believed existed somewhere around,

The only thing we knew were our names and the only place we knew was the sky that always was on top of our heads

We’d seen so many opportunities and had fallen for some but no opportunity ever came our way to pick what was to go into our plate, infact their plates, we didn’t own any plate or mug

So our plight was to at least know this language that everyone was speaking because our tongues were deep soaked in vennacular, so even the way we said our names was through some weird ascent,

She herself was lucky, lucky because at least the child would have time to interact with her uncle and maybe the uncle would coach her and assume some parental obligations

The child was lucky, lucky to have a uncle when some of us have all along heard of uncles and at a point in time thought that it was a city in the united states


It was fun, fun to see uncle and niece talk together, share experiences, so broad cheeks was always a face painting they had before Christmas came around

So it was fun to see ankles and knees get fit after a day splendid of work and play, so the child wasn’t sully anymore

Two years down the line, he was still a brother and somebody’s uncle and a student also

She was still her sister and guardian because of the school fees she paid for him and dues of gathering stones and mixing ballast, so his foundation would be solid

So she was a sister and a guardian playing a bigger part than a mere angel for she was the mathematics that would draw the angle of success for him through the geometry of hardwork and commitment, so she was the center of origin


The tandem between uncle and niece made her fail to send her eyes to time because the child was now at the threshold of puberty and time was tickling still

And if she’d understand that time was moving, seldom would she know that such plays were now more dangerous than the electric pole for such was already birthing to something weird she’d not take to it

Not after long are changes such as slow walks, sully looks, what amiss?

The child was unwilling to open up, but by the look of things, some toothpick tried to reach some particle beneath some teeth

So I was there and provided the toll free number of sans medics, to see if her infliction and infected anything in her

It’s easy to hit the dictionary meaning of family, government  and forget a holiday that has been dangling on the calendar year after year but it’s hard to fail to know the meaning of defilement and would be tied to even consult the same dictionary


So she was in pain, not because she was inflicted, no she wasn’t the one defiled, the pain in her was what would be the turn of events for that child, how her future was ruined by one of her kinsfolk

She was in pain, not that of feeding and elevating a lion that turned and pounced on her but the pain of being told to forward not this issue to the authorities by the kinsfolk because the blunder would paint shame on all of them,

Which was true, true because it would be more overwhelming to see her own brother rot in jail when the light she started for her was busy wasting in some school

She was in pain, pain the brother seemed a villain when he in the least of things could not apologize but escape

So how is he your uncle when he can’t go to his knees and try to convince his goosebumps that you’re just a kid infact with incomplete feminine credentials like flat bossom and hip?

“What was his charm? Were there no bigger girls around to share goosebumps with? I ask as all the rest did that day.

And how is he your uncle when busy chasing your dreams he’s busy pulling your ankle down?

What’s the meaning of school if etiquette is never acquired?


Anyway it’s just a poem

Thank you

By James Musau



When two is too much

She finds it open enough to question his competence with respect to time

And if she’s asked to describe him, she’d say he’s himself, he’s her Superman, he has super abilities and may even walk to space and convince the sun to come down so she can see it and maybe do the same for the moon

But she’d say that inability to utilize the goosebumps she gives is the only thing above his superstitious ability

She knows him well, she knows his changing neck is nothing less than a new skirt in town, which is very correct

With demur allegations of lighting the candle from both ends in the name of working overtime and only find the way home at wee hours

The words found his ears, his ears sent him to the picture hunging on the wall, and not just a picture of anything else like furniture, football stuff whatever

But the picture that reminds him of the first day he wore a tuxedo suit, the day his hands intertwined with the woman he loved and the same hands with proven worth of gracing her with a wedding dress that blew her mind the whole day and made her come out of the blues

And for a second he thought “dang it was too early to involve parents and other counsellors to say a word

So he didn’t care of how much pain would drip tears on the side chick’s cheek but he looked into the pain of saying goodbye when his wife would touch her backpack

So the next day, he came home, he came early enough, so after so many days he again was fortunate enough to see the color of the paint of his door

So I was there when he greeted me at six pm

But I wasn’t there when his wife was yet to arrive home probably yet in the market place for the backpack still was in the closet when he had to look for it, what a sigh?

So then he thought of the other thing, maybe it’s because of the new Jeep in town, which is very correct

He knew her taste for shooting cars that wouldn’t even convince her of any shooting stars

So when she came, her eyes didn’t send her to the dangling picture of her wedding dress for this time she was dressed on the full armour of shame

He kept quiet, she also kept her quiet to herself


He complains on the taste of food maybe she doesn’t know how to cook, but she says it’s the type of food

She’s into the business of knowing why he eats less when home, could he be eating another woman’s food before getting home?

When he gets to eat much, she’s about to poke into his eyes and let him know he brought home less, why swallow more?

He says she not smart and not even close to being smart, she says it’s the type of clothes he buys her

When she gets to look smart, elegant and collected, he makes up to one thing, maybe there’s a man poking her back and throwing soliciting words to her or maybe she’s up to something revolving around infidelity

He complains that food is served late always, she complains that food is always brought home late and that she can’t be as quick as the gas in the kitchen

She says the shopping money is less, he says she should go and fetch her own money

He says they fell in love but I think they instead could have risen in it and no standard could pull off their rings

They both have rings on their hands but none has one in the heart

And that’s when two is too much


It’s just a poem anyway,

But what’s relationship without tandem?

Thank you

By 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 www.houseofhope.co.ke/blog 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

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