Free indeed??

I just spent my last dime, Not on myself. It isn’t my duty to fulfill, but that’s just how I am.

My bloom attracts insects I could trap for nutrition, but I won’t. Because I’m a “plant ” and I’m expected to “eat” from the “soil.”

And though I’m  two  or three in one, I’ll be whom you expect me to be. 
Then  be my favorite me at the dark of the night.When y’all sleep.

“Formal” procedures I followed and surpassed  expectations, but, “systems” fail. 
But I’m ‘creative’ I will bounce back.

I follow an Alien path. Because my roots were clearly laid long before I was.

I  learn  “me”  from “them” coz we follow “them”.They set  prints  n standards

My toy flew away, but I won’t play with yours. Even when you don’t value it. Coz………, 

Expectations, i must meet them.

I wonder if there were no standards. What if free in deed was indeed free. Oh, the taste of freedom.


Will you receive me

Tale of a lonely guy in love

I hope this is not strange, but sleep won’t come.. 
it’s  been a  long time together daughter of the sun…but I don’t know you,  it’s almost one year since I met you.

However i seem to be losing this fight. To a force in your voice or your being, or your smile, or the glitter in your eyes…. just something I don’t know.. but unlike my nature I’m loosing this fight.😍

I’m poetic,or rather I try to be but the problem is that you have become my only art in the mind.

I want  to paint the clouds but behind them is a face- your face. I’m a moon lover, so many nights i will go outside  to watch the moon.

 But the stars are like your eyes shinning down, the moon like your face.

Then my dreams are all taken.. the wise will say it shouldn’t be this way.. 

That the world is bigger.. but you are my main inspiration, my world . My music compositions have you as the beat and rhythm.

My  books are weary with your name Bunyore .. The many prefixes I will put before your name..

I want to know what mettle you are made of, 

I’ m intrigued by you and my curiosity grows any time😋,  that like dolly the Parton I would want to know.. do Icross your mind., because you stay on mine.. 

Cab  I be allowed to bring home this queen to her King? I  want to know the fabric from which you are cut , 

Can I be allowed to know you.know the girl who filled my files.. will you allow me?

 My mum never  issue with me and girls,, until I met you. You are the wallhanging lonely in my  heart, of not so good a photo that I took hurriedly,,

 you even refuse to give me a decent one.. 

so I ask like Don William – sweet Bunyore will you receive me if I come.? Or im I just a son of Fate.



25th September 2019

Re edited

He saved her for himself.

I met this couple early this year in January when I had gone to the coast. 

I’m actually the one who took this photo as  we parted ways. 

Joe had gone to his never ending  errands and he wasnt back yet . I was tired of sitting in the room alone. I decided to step out.

Besides, it was coast, I had come to relax my mind and there was a beach to busk so why not?

I chose a place close to  Hemingway’s beach hotel where we  were putting up, We had a 4 days voucher to spend. 

 For some reason, I loved the rocks beside the hotel and the  way the waves of water hit  them when it was evening and water was coming back.

 I had spent the prevoius night at the balcony of the room watching waves hit the rocks and it brought such tranquillity.

I sank in the sand and let the water play with my legs.  From there, I had the view of a life time. Local tourists like me, ridding the boat to an island. 

So much to see, but my view was digressed to this man standing  a stone throw from me, He was walking a young girl  across the shore. I supposed she was her daughter. 

They were having a good time I could tell. The innocent girl overjoyed, kept moving towards waters unaware of the danger lurking there. The man kept running after her.

Then my mind drifted to my childhood, moments I never had with my father…
Wait! ..did I even see him  often?  let alone playing with him, 

i longed to play with him like this, hug him after school when i came home, and drop my bag at his feet but he wasn’t there that’s something I would trade to have even today.  Nevertheless we grew up.

“Habari yako dada?” Those words starlted me from my world of thought. I responded the best way I knew. 

It was this very man I had seen but this time he had been joined by a lady. Again I could only suppose she was his wife.

There was a  sea shell washed by the waters to the shore that the young girl cried for, this made them sit next to me. In no time the young girl slept.

“Naitwa Said, na huyu hapa mke wangu  anaitwa Nyambura” the man introduced himself.  ” pretty is our daughter na amelala”, “ni poa kuwajua mimi pia naitwa Nyambura kutoka Murang’a” I replied.

What a  coincidence! we  not only shared a tribe but also  a name with his wife, so nature took course we exchanged a few words in Kikuyu.     

       ” yaani wonire mûthuri  no onekeire  mombatha” I joked. To mean you really searched for a husband and found him at the coast.  

She giggled and said ” nlijipata tuu” Her kiswahili sounded so good  you couldn’t detect the Kikuyu ascent anywhere.  ” ntakupa hadithi ,”she said.

Nyambura and her husband gave each other a look that made both of them give a hysterical laughter that woke up their sleeping girl. I knew there was really a story to hear.

   Just then, my phone buzzed,it was Joe, he was back ..I gave him directions to where i was sitted. 

He joined us just as I was beginning to hear the story  of how Nyambura from kiambu got married to Said at the coast.

“In June of 2016  we had an expendition to the coast” Nyambura was speaking now. 

” it was a tour for fourth years admirably calculated to end the four campus years in style. We went to stay in Shelton hotels a vintage kind of hotel and just one that students could afford. Of importance to note is that this hotel was opposite Mombasa intercontinental hotel.”  Nyambura went on.  

At this time, a few  questions had build  up in my mind but I let her continue.

Meanwhile Joe and Said had drifted into what can be called man talk leaving us to chat.

“Afternoons were free so most of the students went  swimming but I didn’t know how to swim.  I spent hours in the shore watching the water or playing with it .I never left the shore. ” she continued.

“If I was not sand scrubbing I was watching  people and waves and that for  me was life .  Then one day, actually the last dayof the trip,  i carried my costume but I didn’t change . It was in my small bag.”

“As I sat there 3 ladies came, they were not whites they were black, like me. They changed quickly and five minutes later they were swimming.  I  saw that as a humiliation” she went on.

At this point i laughed at her ,feeling humiliated because she didn’t know  how to swim.

” I had a figure to die for  back then , not like now when i struggle with baby fat. I  got looks from people as if to ask what I was doing there wasting  precious time. ” said Nyambura.

At this point I interrupted, ” what beach was this? ” I asked. “It was pirates  the famous public beach. ” she answered and  continued.

” My pride rose within and I decided it was time to swim. Besides ,the school trip was soon going to be over . I Changed into my attire.  I never knew the first thing about swimming but I walked in. No life jacket..  But who cared really? ”  she smiled at me revealing a gap between her teeth .

Looking at her, Nyambura’s height was just an inch lower than mine. So I could tell she had the advantage of height.

” I do not know how long i was in water, when a wave hit, then another and another ,and my feet couldn’t touch the ground,” she said. The look on her face told me it was an ordeal experience.

  ” I was sinking, either I had gone too deep in to the ocean or the waters had risen, I tried lifting up my hands, After what seemed like a lifetime, I felt  some hand pull me. ”

“When i opened my eyes,  i was lying on the ground, surrounded by  my classmates, my lecturer and a strange face I hadn’t met.  That strange person was Said.  The father of this daughter I’m holding” . She smiled looking at her sleeping daughter then to her husband. I could tell she loved her family.

” He had saved me from drowning. It was him who pulled me out of the waters. I saw my lectures shake his hands as appreciation and knew it was him.” She added.Her smile was not about to fade.

“Said was working as a life guard at the beach,.After I  regained, I thanked him for being kind,and casually we exchanged numbers .Our school bus left early the next morning.”

“While awaiting graduation in December, I was posted here as a nurse for my internship and the rest is history. ” said Nyambura as many will say when giving their love story.

“Now Said is the life guard in my home” she said as  she gave that Kikuyu laugh and we crowned it with a high five.”

It was getting late for them and the baby and we also needed to get back to the rooms. Meanwhile I bid goodbye to my newly met friends and headed back to the  hotel room with Joe eager to put her story down  to paper.

He saved her for himself.


If my bed spoke

 I was in a court accused, 

with my bed as a witness,

I’d have no defence.

In my bed I’ve cried out heartaches.

Prayed prayers of a child,  curses of teenage 

Lamentations of youth and joys of life.

If only my bed spoke.

Many dreams and longings I don’t want known.

It would mention characters  of my dream by name.

Perhaps draw the faces of those frequenting my dreamland.

It would clarify to many, clear many doubts I want to remain .

I would be defenseless.

Those nights I started a prayer and said Amen in the morning.

My bed would say of my sleepless nights hugging a pillow.
It would reveal my deepest longings, 

When two paths unfolded before me and I didn’t know which way.

Love letters read  and written under the blankets .

Hid under the pillow, whispered to the night only.

My bed would still say.

Lastly my bed would shock me.

It would say even what I don’t know.

That which happens when I’m dead asleep.

Oh if only my bed spoke.

Impossible love

I wish I hadn’t met you

Im falling for you but you aren’t there.                    You don’t see it, or are blind to it.
There’s days I really want to see you

Days I really miss you.. 

I got attached to your smile, your smell, your touch
Days my eyes just want to behold you..                    But you aren’t there..

There days I long for your chest or a chisel in me but you aren’t there.
Days I want to hear your voice, but you are talking to another.

Days I want your attention undivided,, but you can’t.
You were divided long before I met you,

Its me who happened to cross your path,at the wrong time.

Because I crossed your eyes and my image glued to your mind.
I charmed your heart with the glare in my eyes.

Then I believed you, your words, so im here stuck.

Maybe i should have come earlier.. But how early? 5 years ago!!!
When I was ,18.. Even then we would still have to share you.

So let’s decide.. It had to be that way

You shouldn’t have loved me. You shouldn’t.
I shouldn’t have stopped to listen

I was okey. I was fine before you came.
I was forgetting another. Just a rascal like you.

You belong to another and can never be mine.

Are there impossible loves? because this to me, looks like one.

Days I long for

There are days I miss
And I don’t want to believe
That they’re gone.
Days my mind was a stream
Days I held a pen
And there seemed to be a magnet
The pen was glued to paper.
And the mind raging like a river
Flowing more thanI could write.

I miss those days
But i won’t believe that they’re gone
Nights I had dreams
And I woke up every morning
Remembering each detail.
Like a movie they unfolded.
Days in the middle of work,
I burst out into a poem or song
I missed neither beat nor rhyme.

There are days I no longer miss
Because I know they’re still with me
They’re not gone.
Because young minds grow.
With experience they refine.
Like wine they become finer.
Writers will write, poets will narrate
Songs will be sung.

Even in grey hair, Like a testimony,
Stacks of books will stand beside them
Orchestras will bow to them
So wait for it
The best is yet

There are days I long for,
Because I know
Those are days to come.


As death awaits

I know the title sounds like death is a bus that passes by, like the yellow ones coming to pick school children in the morning. Sadly, this bus doesn’t bring them back in the evening. But yes you heard me right. Death can wait. It actually waits patiently but no matter how long, it still comes. To some soon, to some later.

Therefore I’m correct to say, we are on borrowed time that can be called ‘in the meantime‘ or ‘as death awaits‘ because it will wait. In the meantime,

Do your assignment.                                                   live your life ,be on your guard.                            Your actions will escort you to that bus stop where your bus awaits.

I hear you can’t beat death, but you can beat it in life, the way you live it. Live a life death can’t stop, because in your absence you still live on.            The idea is not to live forever, but to create something that lives after you are not there.

But death can wait, for those important things you need to do. Its actually waiting on you..

To be someone’s hero.

To be that person who gives someone a reason to live.

To  undo your misdoings, to put yourself in order.

To love, to forgive, to rise.

To achieve those goals and set new ones.

But to also know that your net worth is in lives touched, hearts lifted and memorable moments shared with those who matter amidst busy schedules. Not in cars built and houses bought. Not in carrer ladders climbed or tittles acquired.

To realize its borrowed time.

That your family should matter so much. Its the only place you won’t be replaced.

That way, if the sweet chariot comes swinging low, announced or silently, with a notice or abruptly , we know we are sojourners  who chose  to live full lives.

And death shall have no dominion, because there’s life after it. And because we have chosen to live lives death can’t stop.

 A tribute to our fallen heroes, to those who lived lives that even death hasn’t been able to stop.

Reflections on death.        

                                                                                             # stories I tell.

  Nyambura Ndungu.                                                     4th july 2019