She Called

She called
She called today
I knew she would call
There was something
In the morning air
A certain shine in the sun
That had given me
This premonition
Why I even had thought
About her last night

So when the phone vibrated
In my backpocket later in the day
I knew it was her calling

I said a timid hello
Afraid of her wrath
She instead answered with a soft warmth in her voice
Throwing me offguard
That is ma gran’ ma
An iron lady
With a sharp mind
And with a big heart
But age is catching up
With her very fast

How you doing son
She inquired gently
I am doing ok ma
I answered guiltily
You know it is sometime now
Since you came down to see me
She plodded
I remained silent then answered
I know ma
But things aint going right in the city
She doesn’t answer immediately
Then and in a very controlled voice
She breathes into my ear
And what does that have to do with me
I scratch my head with my other hand
Searching in vain for what to say
Only a handful of dandruff falls off my head
I need a haircut urgently
Suddenly I remember
Uh huh well I need money
To come down home
You know
She chuckles loudly
You Nairobi people
Are a strange species of people
Who told you money is everything
She wonders crossly
Money is everything
In this city gran’ma
I insist
You fool
Money is not everything
She reiterates
I need to see you down here by
Next Saturday
I grudgingly agree
Knowing very well
That I have been
Out foxed again
And try to change the topic

Her bones are creaking with old age
She reminds me
And her back is giving her sleepless nights
She underlines the fact
With a dry laugh
I understand grand’ma
I murmur
I long to see you son
She repeats
I acknowledge her fears
And assure her
That I will be coming down to see her
She will call again
For a follow up
This I know
But I want to visit her
With a new haircut
Yet there is no money…
Yet I want to buy her gifts
Yet there is no money…
Ah This city life
Is not doing me right

© Ayoub Mzee Mzima 2013


City Lights

Neon lights.
For eons.
LED lights.
RED lights.
Screaming electric blue.
Illuminating the city’s intrigues.
Lighting up the city’s rues.
Strobe lights.
Pays undue dues.
Darkness is scantly dressed.
And softly pressed on a teasing breast.
Carousing on a late Friday night.
Disco lights.
Are the city’s lights.
Rushed lusts.
Claims to last.
But just rusts.
Ah. city lights.

City lights.
Lights up a maddening euphoria.
Lighted up taxis.
Rides up latent desires.
Rides down potent rogue longings.
It is another night.
Brightly lighted.
Purchased joy.
Is the city’s light.
Hedonistic tendencies.
Go lucky miasma.
Sums up this wild feeling.
City lights beckons.
To allude.
And allude.
To certain lies and truths.
Ah. City lights.

© Ayoub Mzee 2012


How I long,
To escape from this concrete jungle.
How I wish to be far away from all this madness.
One day I will leave this city for good.
This city is polluted.
The air that we breath is dirty.
The water that we drink is dirty.
The food that we eat is dirty.
The city’s morals are dirty.
The people are dirty.
The money is dirty.
One day I will escape to the mountains.
I will be at home.

Fresh and crisp mountain air will  assail my nostrils with a certain goodness.
Its freshness will clear out the polluted city air from my lungs and brain.
I will exhale in a permanent moment.
Cool breeze will massage my battered skin.
The city battered my skin with endless and merciless hustles and bustles.
Crystal clear and clean water will wash away the city’s stench off me.
I will drink from the spring while the sun will be tenderly watching over me.
Fat cows will be lolling on endless leas,
Mooing lazily with contentment while watching I,
The caricature from the city, with a curious curiosity.
I will tend to the goats, sheep, poultry and the cattle with abandon.
I will eat fresh meat and drink fresh milk bottled at the source.
I will till the land and plant seeds and nurture the seeds to
Maturity and with a satisfaction watch the fruits of my labour.
I will hold the soil with my bare hands and smell in its rich scents of life.
I will walk in the wide and expansive fields and plains barefooted and
let my heart sing a song of freedom.
I will be at home.

And when the night comes,
Long after the sun has parted ways with the hills,
Long after the land has quietened down,
The thousand stars will herald in the regal moon,
Hanging over the side of the mountain while shining down on my dreams.
In a stillness of a moment,
I will silently gaze at the dark sky and trace my life across the universe,
And make a wish on a star. In the silver light,
I will sip at the potent home brewed beer and hold
Closer the love of my life and kiss her and whisper in
Her ears the moon’s mysteries and secrets.
She will be a fine and a lovely lass who will keep me
Company and one day will sire me a son and a daughter.
I will say a prayer of thanks to the gods.
I will be at home.

© 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