Mighty silence serenades my purchased intent.
Much silence morphs into salient allures.
Alone, I retreat onto distant places in the mind.
Solititude keeps this company to me, availing solitary muses.
Sedentary ruses refuse spent notions.
Alone I keep a company.
Easily a crowd crowds out certain aspirations.
Alone I’m immersed in personal bliss.
Time passes by, blowing I some breezy kisses.
Time whispers ancient secrets.
Time bade a goodbye to a solitary stranger.
Own company I keep to refute alleged repute.
Ceaseless and engulfing sentiments wane.
Alone I converse with my demons.
Alone I hold court with my gods.
Spiriting a desire to ether world glorifies my id.
Chilly night wishes breezes past my vista.
In vain I claim lost glory in own company.
© copyright 2012 Ayoub Mzee
In great samplication, we come to thee.
In immense gratitude, we beseech you to keep us closer in your grace.
The knowlegde that you exist in our hearts is affirming our heavenly father. You know of us intimately.
You comprehend deeply of our weaknesses.
You are keenly aware of our inherently shortcomings.
Our hearts are truly naked before thy eyes.
No intent can lurk in our weak hearts without your perusa father.
We have continued to break your compassionate heart.
But heavenly father, you have never forsaken us.
You have instead continued to bless us more.
You haven’t given up upon us.
Each day is a miracle come true.
Heavenly father, we want to thank you and let you know that your glory and mightness will never wane but will spawn greatness and compassion.
We bow down before thee and humbly ask you to keep on looking after us, long when we can’t see anymore.
May you light up this path so that we may not stumble and fall down.
May you favour us with good tidings and protect us
from all that is evil and wicked.
Your heart silently hears our desires long before
we have mouthed them for you are truly our heavenly father.
©2012 Ayoub Mzee
An enigmatic gaze.
A cryptic smile.
And a soft sigh escapes her breast.
She nods in agreement.
She holds forth life and its all intricate mysteries.
She is the custodian of recessed narrations.
She has known the truth.
A woman knows.
Where words deserts the truth,
Her heart knows it intimately.
No lie is ever sufficient.
She reads a life history, elegantly
And penned on a candid countenance.
Her warm embrace soaks the doubts, lies, fears, hopes, anger and angst.
You need not tell her.
A woman knows.
Sweet joy in another, she easily gleans.
A heavy heart in loneliness, she is instantly aware.
Hidden pain, she quickly understands.
Withheld empathy, she feels.
Words are unnecessary.
A woman knows.
Her silence is a license,
To seek and heed more from a hiding heart.
She clasps reality in her hands, and feeds a wanting soul.
Her acquaintance is a stipend paid by gods.
Her grace and gentleness is an atonement to a spirit in wildness and in need.
A woman feels.
A woman knows.
As the sun raises and kisses a new life.
As the darkness wanes and welcomes a fresh life.
I move amongst my people, ardent at finding an abode.
Seasons defines time.
Their occurances a stamp of authority.
It is a transition of spent days onto new promises that heralds a heart in search of an atonement.
In firmed firmanent, the spirit soars in an ethnic cadency.
Home I have found.
To contain pain and breath joy is magic.
Pronounced and lingering wants promise I some home.
Honed hard feelings deny sweet langour.
I receed for I have found home.
Wildness couldn’t contain this sole soul.
Vast skyscapes feigned accomodation of a spirit.
The stars twinkled distant aspirations.
But it was never home. Home is this now moment.
The beating and breathing present time amongst my people,
welcoming and holding closer stolen victories.
I have found peace in counted pieces.
I have found home.
© 2012 Ayoub Mzee
As the sun closes her eyes and the night opens her arms,
the stars dance to the beauty’s beat.
She is regal and unbowing but soft in bearing.
Her gaze is candid and her eyes house rich promises.
No lie can escape her milk white teeth.
Her lips mouth peace.
Blosoming dreams are narrated by her ample bosom,
maternal and life nurturing.
She is the night beauty.
Seasons come and go and
life is given forth and life mists into nothingness.
But the night beauty never falters nor wanes in her quest.
She spans vistas of elagance and endless ectasy.
She has known our secrets and we feed on her truths.
Darkness is intent and thrusts it’s need in urgent strokes.
The night beauty is a willing accomplice,
offering her eternal bounty in equal measures.
She is indeed the night beauty.
We speak the same language
but silence is enough,
to prounce hidden desires and she the night maiden
is adept at figuring out recessed aspirations.
Can I refuse to be doctored by such gentle hands
and that which knows my malaise?
The night is no longer young and the moon
has bowed out of the tango and the
dawn is eager to show her face.
Sweet langour is ours to claim and own.
Courtesy of the night’s beauty..
©2012 Ayoub Mzee
Our bride is pregnant with her sixth child.
Our bride is wearing a miniskirt, no, a microskirt, to be precise.
Our bride has her nose pierced.
Our bride has a tatoo too.
Our bride has a nasty hangover.
Our bride is swearing, again.
Our bride is bored at the altar.
Our groom stands stoically besides her, determined to commit this lifelong blunder.
Our bride is restless and listless,
For our eyes are burning her,
Plodding her with silent accusations and quivering protests.
We have righteously judged her.
We have passed the verdict.
We have unanimously passed the judgement on her conduct.
Her character is unbecoming…
So we believe.
So we are in agreement.
So we piously declare,
Conviently ignoring our own deformed hearts empty of any righteousness ,
And we purposefully overlook our own warped characters full of gaping shortcomings.
Still, she is our bride.
Yet we must marry her off…
Another social chore done….
© Ayoub Mzee 2012
Finally, the fiery sun kisses the distant hills goodbye and dips its anger into the dark African horizon.
Dusk swiftly gathers courage and drapes the vast land with silhoutted aspirations.
Thin dust swirls gently, suffocating nascent dreams.
We tredge wearily upon the beaten path on our way to the shebeen, after a long day in the fields.
We will have beer.
It is already dark in the shebeen.
Weak light weakly greets our tired faces.
I can see Kaka already inebriated, imbibing his very own soul.
Gladly we find rickety stools and quickly down the first glass of cold joy. The liqour hits the right note and a little fire warms yesterday’s promise deep in the breast.
Dada is talking. She’s always complaining about something or other.
I request for her a glass of purchased joy to keep her quiet.
She won’t keep quiet. She is telling all and sundry about her teenage daughter who is pregnant and out of school.
We will talk tomorrow.
Kaka tells her.
We will drink beer.
The moon is up early. Her shadows eerie.
Her light silvery, whispering our denials in perpetual hues.
Another glass please. The old broken radio keeps on playing the same old broken song but no one cares. We came to take beer.
We have learnt to live with these things.
We will take beer.
Each one of us here has a story to tell, a tale to tell and the alcohol is an exellent listener in silent amusement. Musembi has started singing. It is time to go home. The beer doesn’t have a teacher. I won’t be her pupil either. We have taken beer.
Slowly we gather our tired bones but merry at heart and find our way home. Moonlight shines the beaten path, again, for us. Mjomba is dancing but he has to be careful lest he falls down on these shrubs by the footpath.
We sing about tomorrow’s hopes and promises.
We sing about a prosperous future.
It has been a good day.
Haven’t we taken beer?
© 2012 Ayoub Mzee