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Monday 22 July 2013

MY HEARTS SONG





Tear my heart out,
Out of the cage I built it,
Tear it out and hold it ,
Hold it firmly in your hand.

Hold my heart firm, hold and let it beat,
Feel the thrum and the drum,
Feel the passion in its hum,
Pulsating in your palm.

Let me watch as you hold it,
Let me see if you’ll fold it,
Let ,me watch you as you stare,
My heart almost unable to bear.

I long that you cup it,
That it may pour out the love I have for you,
That even as it feels your fingers escape,
And I fear you’ll let them evade,
You will know the passion that it bore,
And the loyalty it swore.

Take my heart and use its strings,
For your instruments to sing,
Sing of the love and the finesse,
That comes coupled with your gentleness.

Tear my hear out and hold it,
Feel the rhythm of its beat,

My heart it beats for you.

Tuesday 9 August 2011

MR PRESIDENT


Dear Mr. President,
Our most glorious ruler, sinister and repulsive, inept and backward, the silly, the petty, the one and only, from whom flowers burst forth in the morning and sweet scents follow in the night, whose eyes sparkle for new coins, and whose walk makes the ducks blush. We salute you, I salute you.
Let’s just be clear on a few issues first. I don’t like you. You have tried to give me flimsy reasons on why I should like you, but we all know that you’re lying. So I hope you approach life with the understanding that you are not liked. Not just by myself, I’ll have you know .On the contrary, I have a huge audience to entertain with my anti-you campaign. Let not your Prime Minister think he’s any better. I don’t like him either, so let him wipe that silly, smug smile off his face. That being said, lets carry on.
All policemen are ugly. You don’t need to look at them closely to notice. It’s not really the facial features that they possess for surely nobody can look exactly like another unless identical twins. Even if they are identical, they shall not surely have the same traits. No, this is a corporate ugliness. It is not in the face, the dark face. It is not in the body, the usually slender and slightly muscular body. No, it is not these. It’s as if their selection process has an ugly section that they all have to pass. It is an innate ugliness that must come from the heart. This is a dark and sinister aura about them that must be inborn and therefore cannot be escaped. They must be marked from birth. They must be the discarded children of coitus between demons and women in their sleep. I suspect, and it is with strong reason, that these policemen are quite unique in nature.
When you hear police, especially in Kenya, what is the first thought that crosses your mind? Run? Pee and shit on yourselves? Sit and wait for the end? Many people have associated your police with the trouble, harm and pain. It has even been rumored that the first horse of the apocalypse was already released through them. Yes, we think it. Yes, am saying it. You need to be in touch, Mr. President. You need to understand Mr. President. You need to CHANGE Mr. President.
Then there is the little issue of a great establishment. I would like to understand it. Perhaps, you can release a press statement on it, because clearly, giving a speech on it has become a problem. Mr. President, not only that but wouldn’t Kenyans love to have a representative in this establishment. Wouldn’t Kenyans love to eat too? I am telling you, not suggesting to you or speaking in rhetoric. Mr. President, Kenyans would love to grow fat. Kenyans would love to grow rich and fat. Kenyans would love to eat cakes and wine and pastries and foreign delicacies with you. We would like to sit at the royal table with you Mr. President. Besides, isn’t it rumored that that royal table is ours. It is said, only in the most hushed of tones though, that this golden table, laden with the proverbial national cake is also ours to eat, all of us. You need not worry though, the tones as I said are hushed, and therefore a mere undercurrent. Quite inconsequential.
If you hadn’t noticed, Oh Most Grand Mr. President, that past your senility, there exists a drought. Oh Your Excellency, people are dying. You ask what death is. You want to know how this peculiar event occurs, Mr. President. Well, it happens when after going without food or water for weeks, yes weeks Sir, not minutes, your life source seeps out of you. You are lying on the ground. The sun scorches your beaten and battered body. You skin is already leathery and dry. Spotted like a cheetah because of the scorching sun. Your eyes are sunken, no hope to light them even portending. You hair has fallen off, and not because of some city disease like cancer, but because of lack of water. Simply because there is nothing to hold onto on that head. Your bones are paraded and displayed like the agricultural show dairy cows. Your nakedness lies before everyone and you do not care. Flies grace your mouth and eyes. There are no vultures there to celebrate your passing on. Mr. President you are all alone. Alone, have you ever heard that word? Alone? Well, it’s when there is nobody with you, not only to tend to your every need, to massage your feet and pass you the towel when you walk out of the steam bath. No, it’s when there is nobody, period. Mr. President, have you heard of the drought in Kenya? Do you know where it is?
Mr. President, I would like you to know that you have erectile dysfunction. You have it in your head, not your penis. Your Excellency, you have already been diagnosed. You know, why you are suffering this terrible disease? Mr. President, you suffer because you cannot rise to the occasion. You need to learn how to ‘jump into action ‘Sir. You need to know how to satisfy your partners Sir. Mr. President, you ask me why I do this. You ask why I say this. Well, next year is 2012 Sir. Yes, it is 2012. We have planned elections in August of that year. Do you remember what happened in 2008 because of you? You and your so called principal? Well, people went at each other like blood thirsty vampires. They became the undead, these citizens of yours. Look at them now again, Mr. President, teaching themselves how to be vampires, preparing to become undead again. They do this as you stand there and watch Mr. President. I suspect you even encourage it; you stand there and pump away with your left hand to the excitement of their preparation. The flash of their machetes seems to excite you; the scorch of their flames clearly makes you want to dance. You see Mr. President, you have dysfunction. You have erectile dysfunction. It is in your head. Your head and your heart. You need a doctor Your Excellency. A swift visit and a huge dosage of antibiotics. Flashing them down your system may keep you alive. I will make you aware, that the disease leads to death. Beware, Mr. President.
Have you ever tried to walk a tight rope Mr. President? I ask the wrong question. You are too fat to move. I suspect I am scaring you even, so let me scare you a little more. You are walking a tight rope Mr. President. There is teetering involved. Teetering and possible toppling, Sir. When toppling comes, tumbling follows and I think you can bounce, but let’s not put it to the test Mr. President. I need to remind you that you are the one in charge MR. PRESIDENT. You are the boss of us. We do not deny. We have a fat boss. A fat, lazy boss, but still our boss. So Sir, in your fat laziness, as you walk the unnoticed tight rope that you are on, please realize that we are watching you. We are hoping you fall, just so we can put someone else up there in replacement. We know he will walk it, fatten up and fall too…with time. So please as you do it, up above our heads, please don’t fart, and don’t release anything on us that would make our not so attractive selves, so not attractive. You know what I mean.
One more thing, Your Excellency, I want to thank you. Thank you for teaching me to work, not to hope, not to wait, simply to live and to die. Thank you for teaching me to suffer, walk in the sewer and on the fire, so that I can survive. That makes you the single most honorable and noteworthy man I know. Thank you so much, Mr. President. You are a winner. You are The One. You’re the Man!

DEAR PATRICK


                                                


Dear Patrick,
I don’t know if you understand me well. I don’t even know if I communicate with you well enough but there are some things that I need to say to you that have been in my heart for a long time.
First, please understand that every day I am struggling. I am struggling with a big weight, which I don’t know if I can let go of. I am gay, I used to refuse and say that I don’t want that label but as time goes by I realize that it’s who I am. I don’t know how I am going to get rid of it. I don’t know if its rubbed off with an eraser, or washed off with water and chemicals, or even if the blood of Jesus can cleanse it. I don’t know. What I know, is that this has become a more and more difficult life, because I have to move from a world where I like men, am attracted to men to a world where I like women or am celibate. I don’t even know if I can be celibate. I am struggling though. I want you to know that every day I am struggling. When I wake up all I can think about is that on one part am a sinner, bound and chained and heading to hell and on the other side I know am a gay man, trapped in a world that does not accept me. I have prayed about this. I have thought about this. I know that I have to die to the flesh and be made alive in Christ, but I don’t know how to go about this.
Patrick, you are my friend, and I don’t know if you can be here for me. Every time I approach you with this issue, you tell me to delete all my gay friends, and you tell me to avoid anything gay. You tell me to pray. You tell me that God will make a way. Now, I don’t know how God works, nobody really does. All I know is that as my friend, perhaps you haven’t approached this from the point of view that am a human being, with weakness, with desires, with issues, who isn’t fully made and finished. I try, really, I do.
Patrick, I need you. I need you to be there for me. I know that men find it very difficult to ask for help. I don’t, because you are my best friend. You  accept me for who I am, but not wholly who I am. You only accept only my Christ-Patrick side. My gay friends accept my gay side. None of them accepts God; just the same way none of the people in church accept me as gay Philip. Haha, gay Philip, sounds funny. I need you to accept me as I am, the unfinished me. The raw me. Me and my heart. Me and my mind. Me and my spirit. Me as a complete being. There is so much that I can do. I don’t know if you realize it.



Patrick, one day I will be an old man. An old man, and I don’t know how that will work out. Will I have a wife? Do you think I will have a wife? And children, do you think I will have children? What about a husband Patrick, do you think I will have a husband? I am distraught. I don’t know how my future will be. Ever since I was young, I was supposed to have a wife. A wife and four children, named Daniel, Jonathan, Gabriel and Lilly. We would live in a mansion, and have a villa at the coast and we would end up rich and happy. Now, all that is but a dream. A wisp of smoke and a blur ,that will float away and disappear. I don’t even know how I am going to turn out by twenty eight. I don’t know how things will be by forty. I have had a boyfriend already, and am apparently in the process of getting another one. I like this guy. I like him a lot. The way you liked Angie, and Lucy and Fiona. I like him like that. Maybe I will end up living with him until I die. I know you will love and accept me as I am, as you did when Kwame was around. That is the reason you are my best friend. You love and accept me as I am. I am not sure though if you understand me. I don’t know what your expectations of me are.
Patrick, we have talked about purpose a lot. We have discussed Bible verses about it. It would be interesting to know what God’s purpose for my life is. I have understood a lot about my career and the work I'm supposed to do. It is a big load. I even imagine I shall die for the sake of the gospel, somewhere in the Middle East. Am fine with that, it does not scare me. There is though, something I have not fully wrapped my mind around. What about my heart? What about my joy? What about the peace of mind? Am I to have a wife? Will I make her happy? Will I love her?  Will she be the person to spend my old age with? Patrick, I don’t know. I am confused. I don’t blame God for anything. I am not that kind of person and you know it. I have never blamed anyone for anything that happened to me, because I have been in control off all my circumstances to some extent. I have tried. I am not though, in control of who I love.  I am not in control of everything in my future. So what do I do, Patrick? Where do I look for answers when I know that some things with God are not to be questioned? What really is my purpose? Therefore I ask in dissimilarity, will I have a husband? Will he love me? Will we be together forever? Will God accept us? Will God love us? I don’t know Patrick.

Patrick, I am scared. I rarely show it, but I am scared. I am scared that I am walking in sin and I don’t know how to get out. Yes, I want out. There are times when I wish the issues in my life were as simple as working hard and getting a family and acquiring land and living happily ever after. I wish the issues were those of fighting over who squeezed the toothpaste the wrong way and who left the toilet seat up. Patrick, I am scared of being alone. I am scared of dying and I am scared of going to hell. I am scared of losing my purpose, and letting the greatness that is in me go to waste. Patrick, I am scared of not being able to love. I am scared of walking this world aimlessly and all I have to show is the certificates for leadership and achievements at work. I am so scared that sometimes I wonder if I am missing the point.



Patrick, I know how open you are with your mother. I know how you love her and she loves you. The same goes for your father and brother but not in equal extent and  measure. Despite all this, I envy you. I envy you because you have no secrets to hide from them. You have nothing you are holding back. I, on the other hand, am hiding in plain sight. I am hiding the fact that I am gay from my family. My mother and my sister hate gay people. They are gay bashers. They make fun of , insult, get disgusted by and go to all lengths to show that they detest gay people. Patrick I don’t know how to deal with that. I don’t know whether to ever come out to them or not. I have already had an incident where my parents sort of found out. I was taken for prayers, deliverance and counseling. I seemed demon possessed to my parents. Now here I am, eight years down the line, still dealing with the same issues. I suspect that Albert knows. He has been acting funny. He has become too mushy and close to me. There is either something he wants or something he has to say and he doesn’t know how to say it. Then there is dad. Dad has always been aloof. He seems never to have anything to quite say. If I come out to him, I know I will get a lecture and a sermon combined for two hours, followed by prayers. I don’t know how well he will take it, but I don’t expect to be badly off after.

There are also my two school best friends, Moses and James. Moses hates all gay people. He thinks they should be locked up in concentration camps with Muslims. James is more tolerant. He tries to understand. He tries to show empathy. He says all gay people need is love. He is our C.U chairman. I don’t know how to deal with them. I think Moses will easily hate me. He will distance himself. He has nothing to do with sinners like me since God has been so faithful to him. He is doing well. He has money. As I look at myself, I really don’t know what to say. I really know what I want to feel though. I want to feel loved. I want to be loved and accepted. I have millions friends. Everyone around me is close to me. Despite all this, I still feel unloved and alone. All the people I want to love and accept me, can’t or don’t. All the people I need are not there. Patrick, are you there? Are you really there?
Patrick, my point is that I need you. I need you to stand with me. To truly and firmly stand. I need you to walk with me. I have really fallen. I have gotten lost. I have also lost everything that I was. I am not the same person you met years ago. I have been reaching out silently. I don’t know if you have been there but I have been reaching out.  Please help me. Please help me find the way.
I know I have written this a lot like a story, but it’s the truth, and it’s from my heart to you.

Tuesday 5 July 2011

ON THE PAIN OF DEATH


On the pain of death, I shall not tell you,
I shall not reveal, the one I love,
On the pain of death I shall not let it slip,
I shall not allow the wisp to meander its way into an ear,
I promise never to tell,
I will not even budge.
They say that a rolling stone gathers not moss,
My stone shall never roll,
Like the monoliths of old,
Like the British Stonehenge,
I shall stand firm,
I shall be strong,
Be strong for you.

On the pain of death,
I promise to be true,
True as the north,
Straight as the arrow,
Sure footed I will move,
Slowly and carefully,
Gently and softly,
On the pain of death, yes on the pain of death.


On the pain of death,
I promise to be yours,
Yours forever and shared by none other,
I promise to cherish and remember,
Never let the ember,
Fade and go out,
Allow myself to be dismembered,
To save your name, and your honour,
On the pain of death,
On the pain of death.

I WOULD


Just a bit of warmth, with my hand to your face,
The soft silk touch, of the hair on your head,
Just a soft smile, dancing on your lips,
 And the fire in your eyes, playing at the helm.

Just a kind word, grace from your heart,
Something to make me smile,
Something to make me happy too.

Just a quick yes, and send me on my way,
A rushed answer, that will give me comfort,
The speed of it, sending me tumbling and crushing.

Just the comfort of your touch,
And the warmth of your lips,
Just the gentleness of the breeze, that is your eyes,
I would hear, the music of your voice,
I would desire, just a little bit of you, I would you.

That day will come,
That hour swiftly arrive,
That day will come,
 That moment marked out in time,
That day will come,
I shall but wait.

Monday 21 March 2011

YOU...YOU


You are not worth any pain I bore,
You are not worth any effort I put,
Not worth any rules I broke,
Not worth any tears I shed,
Not worth the slightest pinch of salt,
Not worth bearing a fleeting thought,
Not worth anything I would have cared to share, cared to bear, cared to hold on to,
Cared to consider.

I may have given you all that,
But you know you ain’t worth a fart,
A bat of the eyelid, or the mind.

So I take it all back.

I may not have the strength to do it now,
But I take it all back.
The sacrifice I made... I wish I did it for a rat, not you
I wish I jumped in front of a speeding train, instead of you,
I would swallow cyanide, instead of you.

TO BEAR LOVE


Even music is not music without you,
Even the word in my book morph into strange shapes,
My heart lurches and my stomach twists,
Like a ship fighting stormy waters,
I feel discomfort, tougher than pain,
Wrapping me in her cruel arms.

I cannot stop thinking of you,
I only imagine where you are,
Where you are and what you are doing,
And my heart continues to long for you,
I continue to desire your presence.

Your touch brings joy unwarranted,
Your scent makes me squirm in excitement,
Excitement and desire,
Your lips caress and comfort,
Your gaze makes me blush and turn away,
You consume me with your very existence.

I desire you,
More than my very breath,
I long for you,
More than I can say or imagine,
The blood in my veins boils for you,
My dreams and needs are you,
Its all you,
Just take them and run away with them,
For I am all yours.