Focal Point

I pose therefore That if the rich are allowed a show of opulence A display of power and might Why can't I, A writer but of modest means Be allowed to be pompous in my writing, From which I derive so much joy So much hope, so much - life? Living life on a big spoon, they say of the wealthy Writing with a big pen, Or as the big, brilliant mind conceives I say therefore Of my free-spirited self A pompous writer but of modest means.

I know it's not the best thing to do but I know it suits the time now. She might think its a travesty to the love she feels but it could not be further from the truth. At the moment and in the foreseeable future, it just doesn't make sense that we get together. Because I, normal on the outside, cannot seem to find peace and tranquillity within, what with my demons constantly driving me down the cursed avenues of their nefarious existence. What with my pockets empty as a ghost town. I will make her happy but at the right time. The love is true, the fantasies valid. The time, unfortunately, is a fault. Such is the dilemma of living. How does such a good thing come and claim its rightful place at such a wrong time? Or could it be that it's not the best thing for me or for her? But let it be known that there is none other that makes me feel so warm and fuzzy, and tender and loved. But I just don't know what to do. Let it go or move in and try to build it with her? And wil...

And so will come a time When they will think of days of before Days when there was less and nothing more Days when poverty was pertinent on their miserable door Days when they were prone in ennui on the cold floor And days when food thrice left them in awe It was those days When friends and foes Like day and night would come go Like the waters of the oceans would ebb and flow And now on the honoured floor they stand and pore The cruel fetters of poverty, they vow, to return nevermore Bad memories of depressed days and long nights And a family affair capped with a furious fight Those weary days when thoughts hammered away A future bleak and dreary Shaded in avenues of morbid darkness and pensive hopelessness Showered with tears of agony and walls of poignancy Dripping with a slime of hopeless optimism Bold apathy and mindless consumerism Each shilling spent before it is earned Now lessons, as they gaze at the sun have, Not without flaws, been truly learned.

This beautiful world  Oh, my bones it rattle  My heart, alas!  It rends with precision   Scything through the riotous throb   A tumult of orgasmic elation  A surge of cheerful contentment  As the sun drenches the verdant hills, Domes looming in the vicinity and the curved horizon,   With the mellow bars of its unerring rays  The thin leaves of the piny trees glittering in the day  As the conspicuous red flowers of the Nandi Flame singe the eyes   But with grace, pleasantly mild  The light filtering between the leaves and branches  To the maculated and dewy undergrowth   Crawling with earthworms and red ants  To the flowers on the briers and bougavillea shrub  Mottled with the elegant glide of the butterfly  As the weaver and the swallow sing  A harmonised melody from the heavy crown of the fig  And on my skin the warmth dances  Like a tender caress  Soft and lovi...

The glistening down Dusk Thinly clouded westside Fall Sun setting to rise In worlds away and beyond Orange flatters grey clouds Strokes of the rosy rays On my cold skin play In me Invokes Sound wonder and Raw marvel At the golden shine Horizon Of a glorious Sun down. So, you may not be all that I wished for But you have provided all that I needed And so much more You may not be up to the pristine wishes Of my faulty fancies But you have been more than  A fulfilling reality And for you my love I give.

"The law forbids me from brandishing my gun in public when I'm under no threat so get your hands off that gun." "Oh Elvin," Leo smacked, "I'm not that stupid. You reach for your pockets I reach for my gun. Just to be sure, so don't mind." "I'm duty-bound not to kill you in public, much less without you posing a direct threat." Elvin gruffed, looking at Leo with his eyes narrowed. "But I'm a most wanted." Leo bragged, a disdainful sneer on his face. He turned and let his eyes wander in the restaurant. A waiter stood by the doorway leading to the kitchen, as people teemed about in the foreground.He had his eyes firmly on Leo but upon meeting the brute's eyes, he averted them to the door, where and elderly woman waddled in, a young man by her side, keeping her in stride. "Who's that and why is he staring at me?" Leo turned to Elvin and used his eyes to lead him. "That waiter with jaws like a c...

Mark leaned back on his seat and watched Elizabeth disappear into the other room. Just how tea was supposed to pacify the raging demons within him baffled him much. But the life that throbbed in some deeper chambers within him took to appreciating the fact that Elizabeth was just trying to be helpful. Helpful in ways Joyce had never been and quite possibly could never be. Come to think of it, Elizabeth was quite a looker too. He watched her approach, a tray held before her chest. As she bent over to serve, he peered at her cleveage. Her dress was modest but her bent posture meant that her breasts hang just below the neckline. Mark held his breath as he fought some other demons. Those of lust. But it was ironic that he could think of that now and not when he would rub himself dry on Joyce's pictures. Elizabeth seemed to have noticed this for she straightened herself and pulled up her dress straps. Not to much efficacy but it seemed a subtle statement to the aroused Mark that she ha...

Bolo was a wispy man. He came in an odd shape. He had a phallic head which was supported over his scrawny, lanky frame with a thin neck. Not exactly a human being that eased one's eyes. If anything, based on the fallability of instant bias that comes with a being human, he was repulsive, repellent. He had little, if at all anything physical, that atoned for the cruel physicality bestowed upon him. He was the Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Beast, a man who could lose a beauty contest to a warthog and still go home feeling like a champion for at least making it far enough to be in the final two. He had reddish, watery and distended eyes, a disproportionate nose that seemed to gulp down oxygen through the outrageously oversized nostrils and a pair of thin, dry lips that folded into a crooked smile that went a long way in bringing to prominence the ugly wrinkles on his cheeks and the hideous forehead folds that his straight face hid. While others held their smiles as a redeeming asset, B...

I'm trapped in a glass case of emotion. My mind is a vine of confusion and muse distortion. Maybe I'm a little psychotic but I know that despite the despair I exude, I 'm  optimistic, a roving feline, or as Romeo and Juliet, I believe in destiny. Sure they both die at the end but who said a babboon can't enjoy some wind beating against the red anus even when it's red and ugly as fuck. In the never ending quest to make it, I realised damn it! I'm too serious. Hell, I even make the name serious frown at me like 'seriously?' (He he that's my laughable attempt at modern day lingua). Also, its raining, our houses are flooding. Better wake up with a smile as we scoop these waters in our plates, cups and spoons as we break into a unanimous 'Count your blessings' chorus, washing the water down to a farmer who truth be told looks out of place in Nairobi. He already has enough blessings, but who said you can't stock 'em? Then, go to work wher...

Tribute There is nothing quite as destructive and fascinating as death. Yet there is nothing that puts our mortality in to perspective than the death of someone so colossal that they seemed un-human. People who  were born doing their art while the rest of us mere mortals waddled on for another five or six years, throwing tantrums as they became the forces we fawn over and revere in unceasing awe and gape. The sudden passing of Papa Wemba is what has prompted me to pen this article to celebrate an artist that we will marvel and gawk at for decades on end, as we still do Franko and Madilu System. Papa Wemba collapsed in his chosen battlefield , the stage, early Sunday morning, 24th April 2016, at the FEMUA music festival in Abidjan, Ivory Coast and died on his way to hospital. If ever there was need for proof that death has a sense of dramatic irony, this certainly must have been it. While I wouldn't want to pander about by claiming to be a 'big fan' of Papa or go in leng...

Comment What a terrific fortnight! These are some of those so incredibly great periods that make one don pride of being Kenyan with a wholesome embrace and a matching sheepish and optimistic grin . From Harambee Starlets' swim through adversity to Women's Afcon to The Rugby Sevens Team, Shujaa , winning a rugby series main title for the first time in 114 tries. In the euphoria that comes with moments like this, it is tempting to get lost in the moment but I choose not to. I'm a cynic that celebrates with a smile and perhaps a five minute jiggle, so, after trying to hold it in, I finally lay it all out. What does the women's football achievement and Shujaa's Singapore Sevens win signify for the respective sports? Starlets, in current state have no future Let's start with the Starlets history making appearance in The Women's Continental showpiece to be held in November. The replay at Kasarani was nothing short of spectacular. That they eliminated Algeria, ...

So goes the million dollar question. But is the question as complex as we make it or is it so easy to answer that we would rather not admit it? With the rise in HIV infections in marriages, most of us have really found a legitimate ground to question the sanity of marriage. With more people in the life-long commitment getting into the mpango wa kando (clandestine relationships) phenomenon, it seems as though getting married now acts as a front to hide the cesspit of sexual decadence many would wish to keep secret. But why? Why would we commit to someone only to turn on them faster than Flash on a free ride down a slope? How bad could they have gotten since the first time we saw them? 'Relationship experts' have tried answering the question so many times but it seems they too perhaps think too much. For anyone who has ever been in a relationship, one can attest that when caught eating from the wrong plate, there is no shortage of a myriad of reasons. My spouse didn't do th...

The greatest ever? That is the feeling here. While critics may find fault in the lack of a World Cup in his trophy cabinet, there is no denying that Lionel Messi has dominated the modern game in ways no one else has and no one else might. When he claimed a debut win of the prized individual award in Zurich on a cold evening on December 1st in 2009, few would have expected the unprecedented run of three more successive wins that followed. At twenty two then, Messi had shown great promise to earn the monicker 'one of the best of his generation' yet, when he claimed his fifth Ballon d'or on Monday the 11th 2016, it has set tongues rolling, further putting to boil the debate of whether he is the greatest of the sport or merely one of the hallmarks. For Messi though, the debates are pointless, as, by his own admission , he would trade the five of them for a World Cup. But Messi should have no doubts, he is defining an era in ways no other player has and in winning the fifth B...

Hi there beautiful people. Sorry for the lengthened silence. Lets just say the holidays got me. I hope they have been nothing short of breathtaking on your end . But anyway, I have crawled back from the self-imposed silence exile and as usual have emerged with a thought nurtured by my time in darkness . Why is it that a new year elicits so much excitement and hope despite the fact that it is only a flip of a calender? All the trite of new year resoultions, higher expectations. Is the dawn of the 1st of January really a cause for celebration or just a façade of new beginnings with hardly any newness to it? Whichever way one looks at it, the new year is bound to always elicit some freshness and jubilation in any one human and alive enough to experience it, even to cynics and skeptics like me. There is always a certain mystic and charm of a fresh year that goes just beyond the flip of the calender. A new year is like a new day - it offers its own unique enigma and with so many days ah...