Young Kenyan girl with long hair under your thin braids

The harsh sun has refined your face and

Hard work has trimmed your waist


Young Kenyan girl with rhythm in your step

Intellect has you in four eyes and

Beauty sees and defines you.


Young Kenyan girl with three tongues

Your dreams are a psalm in God’s ears

And answers are close as your smooth clay skin.




Sleeve rolled up, I’ve stood before you but never quite did I wield the spear.
Instead, patiently I’ve waited in the mist of something called hope,
chained by forces unknown and punished for wrongs I can’t recall.
But time isn’t as patient as me, it accelerates with every tick and tock.
The time to punch back is long overdue ,
So kicking and screaming I’m reclaiming from you that which is mine.
My destiny. My purpose.



That shirt was never meant for public

That chequered red T-shirt

Red or black, can’t be sure,

It was forever worn underneath something else

Like everything else we weren’t meant to see

The others must have spotted it before me

But like me were already too weak to warn me

Of all the stealth

All the play

And all the hurt

Underneath all his calm and charm

Thus for too late was I left to perceive

The blood in the red, shadowed by the black



So adorning that which caught my eye last night,

Afar and ablaze yet super clear to my short sight,

Clearly sliced and shaped by the blacksmith of all crafts,

Treaded on and flown over but forever afresh.

Lonely at times, like now, but never with a grumble,

Must be the most priceless embellishment without a price.

Worshipped, studied and painted through centuries lost,

Caesar must have incalculably spied on it,

But poor soul could only dream of dominion over it,

That amazing airless sack of rock and dust.