The Brick Layer

He lays bricks methodically,
One by one as he carefully takes measurements,
Occasionally,
He would step aside,
And admire the work of his hands.
He is the brick layer.

Day in,
Day out,
He is at the site,
Working quietly and for long hours,
Laying bricks,
Building houses,
Building dreams,
For other people.
With mortar and bricks,
He fashions apirations of people,
Into solid and concrete dwellings.
He is the brick layer.

But time has come and gone,
Years have found the brick layer still laying bricks,
He has built so many houses,
He has made so many dreams come true for so many people,
Now, when will the brick layer build his own dreams?
Now, when will the brick layer
build his own stone house?
When? When Mr. Brick layer?
You have grown too old now Mr.

You see, our brick layer still lives in a tin house despite building so many beautiful and impressive houses for so many people over the years.
You scare me Mr Brick Layer,
I am afraid of building other people’s dreams,
If it means that I will never build my own dreams.
I have dreams but they almost die,
Every other morning,
Whenever I catch the sight the brick layer at the site,
Busy building yet another dream not his,
Busy building yet another house not his,
Yet his house is falling apart,
Yet his dreams lie dormant,
The brick layer,
You making me ponder and wonder,
At the futility of life’s efforts…

I Spoke With The Moon

I spoke with the moon last night,
And I held a certain dialogue with the moon,
And we spoke in a silent night,
She listened calmly to my words,
I narrated my life story,
I spoke of my never ending pain,
I spoke of my nascent dreams,
I spoke of my nubile hopes,
I shared my aspirations with the moon,
She listened and warmly smiled to my righteous case and cause…

And the moon spoke,
She said,
Dear son,
I know what you’ve been through,
The centre has refused to hold,
And instead everything has fallen apart,
You have become a stranger to your own home,
You have become a stranger to your own people,
Darkness has plagued your footpath,
Clouds have shrouded your joy in dark mysteries,
Happiness has taken leave from your life,
Confusion, isolation, uncertainity and guilt reigns mightly in your life,
But have courage dear son,
For you have remained strong despite the many storms brewing in your little cup,
For you have remained sane despite the endless and merciless trials,
Smile son,
For the dawn of a new day and life is here,
Hold on in there strong man,
Your big day is here,
Ready to shine and bless your life…

And I listened to the beautiful words,
In a dark night,
And watched the matronly lunar,Shine her benevolency upon the sleeping world,
And I was glad in the heart,
And I sung and rejoiced silently in the solemn and dark night,
As the moon shone her silver love,
Upon my happy countenance,
I knew that the moon,
Has blessed yet another wretched soul…

I spoke with the moon.

© Ayoub Mzee Mzima 2013

Uncle Stu II

It has been quiet sometime now,
Since I last saw you.
You have been so lost Uncle Stu.
Where you being @?
We miss you Uncle Stu.
Please come home soonest.
So much has have happened at home,
Since you disappeared into the big city.
Your nieces and nephews have all grown up and infact have got their own families now.
Some you actually didn’t know.
Uncle Stu,
You have become a stranger in your own home.

But Uncle Stu,
We have always loved you.
You are a such an interesting person.
You used to gall us with endless laughter and mirth.
You had the most kind heart Uncle Stu. You lived with us and shared with us everything you had Uncle Stu.
You cried our tears.
You laughed our laughter.
You lived our pain.
You breathed our joy…

But one day,
One day you travelled to the big city.
You disappeared completely into the big city.
The big city swallowed you,
Just like the way Jona was swallowed by the big fish in the bible…

Come back home Uncle Stu.
We miss you Uncle Stu.
Who wronged you Uncle Stu?

I will play your favorite reggae hits Uncle Stu when you come back home. I still have your favorite collection… Israel Vibrations, Culture, Bob Marley, Peter Tosh, Hammington, Buju…. I have everything Uncle Stu.
You would sing alongside these greats,
Strumming my heart with wonder,
A wonder of a beautiful and magical life in future time. You were a star to me Uncle Stu.
But now you are gone.
I keep a close watch on the jalopies,
Vying along the dusty road,
And hoping to spot yours too,
As you come home,
Dear Uncle Stu.
It has been many years…

© Ayoub Mzee Mzima 2013

Dreams

When sleeps claims victory,
And I’m dead to the night,
And I’m blissfully embraced by slumber, the things come upon I. The ethereal beings finds I.
The dreams.

Some I know while others,
Are unfamiliar and strange.
They tell a wierd story.
Buried pains awaken.
Lost love is found in a clammy night. Whispered beauty is stolen by dreams.
The dreams.

Clandestine aspirations,
Moot a true destination.
A mirage defines the reality,
Of these dreams, escaping a description. Defying an inclination.
The dreams.

© Copyright Ayoub Mzee 2012

Morning Again

When the light is solid and brighter,
the morning has found us.

Again we know the morning,
With it’s cache of fresh promises.

Morning mists claim tender wetness,
but easy languor prisons the body in the bed.

Vestiges of a distant night counter with a fading jig,
a night best spent.

It’s morning again.
What a gain.

If dreams were words,
Then we would have held some conversation with the moon,
then she would have known our secrets.

No holding back because the sun
has kissed our pain away.

It’s a new start.
It’s a new day.

It’s morning again.