This Valentine’s

I’ll play my favourite song,

Write down my favourite lines.

Scream.

Then die young.

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🎶Fresh Roses in my Garden, Need The Rain🎶

It’s never easy coming up with the right words on just any day of the month, or anytime of the day. At least for me, something always has to trigger it, you know?

If I’m not triggered no words will come, and if I’m lucky enough on some days, they’ll come, make no sense at all to me. I wouldn’t post that, would I?

So tonight, I wanted to write, desperately. I wanted to talk about Valentine’s, I wanted to ask Love to be a little kinder to us all this coming week. None of us is in the mood of lecture, so I won’t say much of Oh Valentine’s about all types of love etc etc.

For lovers and non lovers of Valentine’s, I got something. On my random “revision” of my diary entries, I came across something that I wrote sometime back. I’m not sure if an edited online version of it exists somewhere on a website, this is the most original version of how I first wrote it.

FALTERED WORDS, CRUSHED EXPECTATIONS
Show me the colour of sanity…red? Black? Or white?
Or black and red?
Probably not black and white
Because black and white is me
Burnt is me, frozen is me
Tell me the story, and draw me the shapes.
How about the feeling?
Describe it for me.
Dear Mr. Guitarist, please sing me a song.
Tell me what you think of me?
Sing us this one.
Sing us and play us into existence.
Play me the rhythm of my heart
Have you forgotten the notes?

Somewhere between too fast and very fast.

Take me to a mental hospital.
But you see they wouldn’t accept me, right?
They say they are trained to deal with real and less intense one!
I have an addiction, an obsession
Maybe I need to be in a de- addiction centre
Well, truth is, I get too attached.
My heart hurts physically, I feel the gap when they leave. It bleeds to the point I end up in medication to boost my blood count, you see.
Don’t promise me quick recovery
I want no promises…I’m on the furthest end.
Promises wax my ears
They make my veins dry,
Don’t promise me warm embraces, Honeybunch shoot your shot.

Thank you for the likes and views, they mean a whole lot. They are my reasons❤.

Meanwhile, I know the cutest painter, artist, photographer, musician and poet there is to exist. ( all that in a single being😜)

Blessing upon blessing meeeeen😂😂

I’ll be back, painted in a different shade.

Happy Valentines you all❤

And a beautiful week👏

TO WHOMEVER IT MAY CONCERN

These thoughts are the most familiar ones. These fears too, I’ve been here, only that I’ve never been so close to doing this, I got two nooses on my neck, just to make sure!

On my hostel balcony, I’m standing at my favourite spot, there’s usually less disturbance on these sides, less people notice.
The few I’ve ever found here are actually kindred souls.( I think so)
Their hands and wrists have scars, scars that resemble the ones on my back and my legs. Let’s call them sacred tattoos.
Madness! Painful madness!
Crimes!
Crimes of justice… Crimes of defence; self defence, inclusive of the ones we come to contemplate at this spot, the one I’m about to…

I’m past teenage, don’t ask me how old I am, because I am old- old and withered!

Lucky you!
Lucky you, lucky you if you receive daily texts from me, no, you ain’t lucky, I owe you. I owe you that kind of freedom. Because freedom was giving love without the fear of losing it. Without this fear, the one that I live in.

I’m not so proud of many things I have done. I’m not proud of the loves and friendships I lost.
I’m not proud of the torture and hard times I have people through trying to figure out what kind of being I am exactly. I fear keeping in touch with people. I fear reviving old friendships except for one…which I was told was too broken to be fixed. I fear lighting up new candles.
I fear loving people, I fear giving a lot much of me, because someone received it and didn’t appreciate it.
Did he/ she?
Yes and No…they did appreciate, very much.
Only that I didn’t want to keep keeping on.
I’ve held the door for VIPs of my life to walk out.
I didn’t send them away really, I cared enough, to free them of my toxicity, and that is love, right?
I’ve betrayed people who trusted me with their lives and greatest treasures.
I do not want my decency ripped off, I do not want any more of receiving and not giving. For even the Holy Book states that Only the hand that giveth is blessed.
I have had to let them go, because I want freedom…I let them go because I loved them all, very much. I still do!
I’m toxic and it’s not a very good thing.

Above all though, I’m not holding on, I’m not lighting candles or fires, because I fear Balance you are going to call it karma .

I fear giving and not receiving with the same intensity
I am selfish, right?

To all the loves that I never reciprocated.

To all the times I failed to create for my most loved, I wish I were able to create that time for them, sadly I have ran out of time. TIP: if you do not create time for something or someone. You run out of time, like I have, one, two, three, many times.
I am toxic… Like I had just mentioned.
If I asked you to leave, please don’t hold on.
I am not worth the sacrifice.
I’m not worth the cold nights and punishment you subject yourself
I’m not worth you holding on to, too tight.

I’m only worth my freedom. Taming means making her to belong.
But then, I values freedom of mind.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t fear relations, it’s superficiality that I’m running away from. It’s my toxicity that I’m saving you.
It’s joggled and messed up, right?

My balcony crew and I, maybe we are just birds not good for taming. Birds that are a little too obsessed with freedom and balance. Sadly though, balance sometimes mean forgoing our own happiness to protect fragile hearts, good hearts and beautiful minds.

It’s not easy. It’s never been easy being this kind of bird.

Because sometimes the same freedom we crave,means freedom to fly off, from this balcony. We have no tangible wing, remember?

To all my suicidal crew.

Maybe freedom isn’t what we think.

It is loving and not forgetting the things we love are the things that protect us. They protect us from our own toxic beings. They protect us, because they deny us a little excess freedom that might get us off the balcony. They give us second thoughts about the nooses, so we always have to back down.

We’d lay our armour down, just for them, right?

Forever and always,

Jasunga, ma Jaber.

I hope you all like this, you’re my reason. The reason I think thrice about freedom and the kind of bird I am. At least for the love, it hurts me to think you won’t have a similar read the next time you pass by.

Yes..WHOMEVER.

THE RAINS HAVE COME

If you were to have a super power, what would it be?
Given a chance to become someone or something what would that be?
Better still, what is good music?

I love culture, yes, we very much love culture despite the fading signals it’s been giving overtime.
Great voices are therapeutic, they are soothing, they are life especially when you connect at a personal level.
Sadly, good things don’t last, do they?

Friday night, after a long day ushering in February on a weekend I thought, how about going through people WhatsApp statuses? They entertain several times.
Thou must not forget the “memecious” generation of ours.

In quest for funny memes, I came across this status with Ayub, the well known koth biro legend.
Then my reply to that was, Ayub💞❤”.
And the response was, _I connected with koth biro at a personal level_ , but before I could finish typing _Cheers to a lot more of him,_ he said, _I hear he is gone!_

Gone?! Where?

If you’ve ever lost a dear one then you know the kind of way your heart stops to beat for a second, then comes back but with unexplainable kind of heat, you fear, you want to hear a better news. Mostly we call those people to confirm, right? Other times we review out conversations with them as we look for any signs they gave that we failed to notice.

I’m not a good storyteller, I’d have narrated to detail the ache, the rhythms and the heat my heart generated last night.

True to it, the rains have come before we are able to take the cows home, we are the disobedient children.
Our culture is at risk of extinction, and the legends of it are falling off, one by one.
Has it even been a month since Oliver Mtukudzi went home too?

If you know the Kenyan youth today, then you’ll agree that unlike the late Avicii’s death posts all over, musicians like Ayub don’t get that.
They bring us music from a different time, a different universe that we so long ago chose to leave.

There’s a Luo proverb that says “Chien kiyany” directly translated as “backs are not abused”
Well, you can never abuse where you are coming from and we can never get rid of our roots totally from us.
Go well Ayub.
This one hit, couldn’t you wait for the greener that I just asked Lady February?
Or have the February rains just began on that note??, sweeping us away before we take the cows home?

I beg to stop, your honours.
Only wishing we get an incarnate of Ogada. And if the rains are kind, another time, let the waters bring life and not take away.

_If they ever tell my story,let them say I walked with giants. Men rise and fall like the winter wheat, but these names will never die.
Let them say I lived in the time of Angelou and Oliver.
Let them say, I lived in the times of Ayub Ogada._

*Go well Ogada! Go well Wuon Okumba, Wuod nam!!
*

~We shall take the cows home, this time before the rains come.~

Happy Birthday Jasunga (Belated)

Good morning February❣🥰
What brings you around so fast?
Whatever that is, feels like I’m a little prepared for you ( at least I feel so).😂

Easy, FEB, that’s a cuter way to call you, right?
Bring some rain home, it’s dusty🤧, plus, I love the smell of the soil when it rains. It’s poetic; how the drops hit the roof, especially when you got no ceiling and tiles. Tales of an African child, that would mean curling up in bed, pretend to be dead asleep despite mother’s call to harvest water (chiko pii)

Rain also means greener pastures, literally. We love green. Green is clean green is beautiful. Shout out IG;@anita_soina CEO SPICE MOVEMENT. Show some love beautiful people.🌱💯

Hey you, Lady Feb, bring more businesses and better deals🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑 around🤑🤑🤑. There’s need to survive. Poverty isn’t so easy.

I hear you are called love😍,

But you know what? Some of us, without mention, we’ll be fine, we won’t need the “boos and bears” thaaat much😂 and others, let it be a bless up Lady Feb👱.

Bring beauty, yes..carry with it esteem and extra love to spread. Warembo eeeeh!

Dear Feb, to me you are some sweet lady, Jan is gone, our mother in law the one, with whom we struggle to get along😭😂
My birthday comes then still, and I appreciate that it’s towards the end of it. Could be that I wanted to come around with you, right?

Happy Birthday to me!💞
At least it’s clearer my extremes for you already, right Feb?

Bring prosperity, To our Chelsea fans, bring a single score above ⚽😂
And to Man U Feb, a series and series of proof that they are the chosen of the football nation😘😂😂 ( no offence beautiful people, Lots of love to all teams)

I know so little about football, my inbox is already on fire with both angry and pleased fans…then boom my seconds of fame 😂. I cannot handle this much fame. (I’ve ever contemplated this countless times; you never know how far my muse could go.*^ loud and sarcastic laugh^* it would be in preparations, aha!

Hey Feb, my haggard lamp is running outta kerosene. I haven’t paid for the tokens.
Bye, I only passed by…there seemed to be a little extra ink after I completed the reports and proposals..✍🏾

Ululations for the new month and a better season.

{Alulululu} raised to power infinity.
(is this how ululations are put in words?)😂😂

Till next time,

Your enthusiastic fan,

Jasunga, ma Jaber.

Excess Love and a powerful year ahead beautiful people!!!

Ps: 2019 is now official.

For the first time, in a short and long, not so short time.

For the first time in a long time I carried Mumbi’s purple handkerchief in my travelling bag. She gave it to me when we first met on some street. Truth is I might have been here, only that I hadn’t done this much.

For the first time in a very long time, I hugged dad so tight and refused to let go, I mean till it got a little awkward. He’s mum’s for whatever’s or whoever’s sake. Worse still, I broke down in the embrace.

For the first time in a longer time, I left the house with a hair so messed up, I didn’t comb my hair, and never dressed properly, I had my little brother’s cardigan, then red, then green, then white, and brown wedges.

Again for the first time in a not so very long time, I chose the backseat, and I asked dad to drive on..let us get lost.

He wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t. And it’s okay, because it’s for the first time, in a not so long time.

Something happened though, dad loves speed, I want to get him Italian cars someday, we flew…we still are, on the bad roads. Maybe he wants to get lost too. Like daughter, like who?

For the millionth time as it has always been, my sweet not so old dad asked me about the seat belts. But you see, i wanted to be gone. I didn’t want to hear a word he said. I wanted to be with my a kindred soul, I wanted a madness and darkness much intense.

I wanted to be far away. For the millionth time, in a short time. I wanted the sunset to find me lifeless, and the sunset to have me forgotten.

For the first time, I didn’t want to write further. I wanted to stop, and I stopped.

For the first time in a very long, short…not so short time.

BURY ME WHEN THE SUN SETS

If tomorrow comes and I can’t wake up,
Please don’t cry, I’d have completed my stay noticed/ unnoticed, wait for yours!

If tomorrow comes and I’m no more,
Please play your favourite of my best songs,
Read and recite your favourite of my poems.
Pick and keep your best of my treasures.

Take my casket to the sea shores at sunrise
And on the sands, write our names.
Let the birds sing their songs,
And the waves too, let them bring sounds of life.
Let the wind blow your breaths of pain far far away to wherever I’ll be gone.
Buy coffee from my favourite vendor Tim,
Serve the mourners, till they are all high on caffeine!

If tomorrow comes and I don’t wake up,
Smile at the light of the sun, for she would be fierce then, extra ordinarily bitter on your heads…”What a shame oh people of the planet!
You lost her!”

The sun won’t burn long though, I promise.

When the sun finally sets to rest,
Please sit by the shores of the sea again…mumble your last to Apollo.
Burry me when the sun sets.