Furious Mother Nature

As the earth gives up life,
It’s sun-scorched soil refuses life.
Bareness claims another causality of furious nature.
Need surrounds every hope.
Thirst sears patched throats.
Reprieve is nowhere.
Suffering and anguish fills the long days.
Scratching the dead land for a living is not unlike a slow death.
The sun burns life beneath to oblivion it with a certain fury.
Winds sweeps away the dreams.
Darkness is unable to conceal the suffering.
The lunar can only illuminate the naked pain.
Mother mature can never forgive transgressions.
She was raped and battered by man.
Now man must pay for his sins.
All the trees that were callously cut down shall haunt his soul.
For the rain shall not rain again.
Droughts and famines shall be the seasons to count the passage of time.
Mother nature is unforgiving….

© Copyright 2012 Ayoub Mzee



You maybe welcomed into this heart,
But to own it you’ll never.
You may experience the warm embrace,
But to own this spirit is next to impossible.
I’m a free spirit, doing and going whatever and wherever I wish.
My thoughts are free. I judge not. I just flow.

If you leave the ownership of this spirit onto me to own,
Then you’ll know of an unique being, A being who respects all and lets it be. I’ll never trespass nor transgress your rights.

I watch with a doleful eye,
All those efforts put in by an individual, Trying to own me.
Why cage me in?
Let me fly into the dark night , like lucky lark and sing this beautiful song.
The metaphors are crying to be messaged by my quill,
How then will I be able to, if you insist hanging on to my neck?

In solitude, I find my thoughts and sing my personal soliloquy.
A crowd is sometimes tiresome and all I need is to quench
my soul with this quest in golden silence. Alone, I expire the anguish and inhale happiness,
But otherwise, I’ve known peace piece by piece. I won’t mortgage my person, I’ll keep it intact.
Therefore, you can’t own me…

© Copyright 2012 Ayoub Mzee

The Little Black Dress

Peeking, teasing, generous.
So little, so coy, so brave.
The little black dress,
Says so much in so many little ways.
The dress is so intimate with it’s wearer,
hugging and exposing the appropriate places.
How envious of this little dress…
to be so close to this soft and willing dermis!
The little black dress,
dresses and teases the mind with a potent finality.
Every male is a willing prisoner,
while his imaginations run amok,
His hidden desires inflames an urgent longing,
while the proud owner of the little black dress,
Smiles knowingly,
letting the damned little thing ride higher and higher….
The power of a little black dress.

© 2012 Ayoub Mzee


Secrets are no secrets
And each secret conspires to escape through the lips.
Secrets have no peace while hidden
They need to circulate
There is nothing like a perfect secret
Secrets have families and relatives
Secrets haunt
Secrets are never comfortable and less liked
Secrets harbours evil
Secrets prisons a soul
A happy spirit is a spirit without secrets
This is the secret…..

© Copyright 2012  Ayoub Mzee


Once upon a time,
Courtship was an art.
It was a polished skill,
A definition of a complete man and woman.
Courtship was a period of sublime experience,
A time of finesse and beautiful exploration of a partner’s mind and soul.
Courtship was a revered language of lovers.

But not anymore.
That is all gone and only memories are left.
Things changed.
The game changed.
The players changed.
And then courtship died the night before.

Courtship has become a battle of the sexes.
Courtship has become a bloody and brutal game. Finding your way in courtship nowdays is not unlike charting away in dangerous sea waters infested with blood-thirsty sharks and pirates.
Courtship has become a merciless appraisal and feasibility study by the opposites sexes.
It is all about ‘what do you have and what can you do for me lover friend?’
The city streets are littered with broken hearts.
Materialism rules the roost.
After striking it rich,
We become so pleased with ourselves.
But sooner than later,
Birds come home to roost.
Reality sinks in and we realize that there’s no soul in our partners. Just a humanoid out to claim the world who cares less about the human condition and the sunshine it shines in a life. Happiness and joy soon escape through the bedroom window, never to return.
And we start a new search for love,
But we quickly discover that no one is interested in that stupid emotion.
Can you build an empire with silly love?
Can you eat love?
Can you pay bills with love?
Caught in courtship……

© Copyright 2012  Ayoub Mzee


Huddled together like hens,
Or better, monkering monkeys,
Heads close together and with an apt interest,
They consult in low murmurs,
Occasionally, a silly laugh escapes their lips,
Confirming yet again their business,

Gossip is so wonderful,
An excellent way of killing time.
It is a communication,
An exchange of juicy titbits about your neighbour, I hear the wife run away, you console your wicked heart.

Gossip is an artform and it has it’s  practioners, uncouth and mightly evil.
The beauty of gossip is it’s inherent anonymity.
You can never be held responsible for your utterances… you were told, you heard people talking. Gossip gives you a poetic licence, to embelish and twist the truth,
In whatever way you like fiend
Ah gossip.

© Copyright 2011  Ayoub Mzee