I talked To Myself


I heard,

Myself talking.

Talking to myself, again.

And the things I said to myself,

Are the very things that I have been running away from.

I ran from the truth.

A supposed truth.

A purchased truth.

A forced truth.

A truth I really didn’t want to hear…

I am afraid,

To talk,

To myself,


© Ayoub Mzee 2012


Old Age

Old Age

To gracefully grow old,
To peacefully mellow with time,
To blissfully match with the passage of time, is a true blessing.
To have seen it all and generously have given way to the younger generation is the way to go.
And when one gets there,
It it will be a life well lived.
It will be old age.
And it is a gift to behold.

What a grace,
To experience time’s own rendered pace. What a pleasure,
To have witnessed the seasons as They come and go.
The gods must be generous enough, to have given you the will,
Of giving up willingly,
The things and the ways of the youth and instead,
To have embraced true wisdom.
When the time comes to bow out of life’s ring,
Let me meet you there peacefully.
Fear not old age.

Where the grass has grown,
It will grow again.
Where the birds have sung,
They will sing again.
Where flowers have blossomed,
They will blossom again.
So take heart
And fear not the old age….

©Ayoub Mzee 2012

There Was A Song…

Once upon time,
When we couldn’t sing,
When we didn’t know how to sing,
And when we feared to sing,
A song,
A certain song,
A kind of a song,
Kept on singing deep in our hearts.
This song refused to die.
The beat kept on.
The rhythm never abated.
The melody was constant.
The lyrics only too real.
Silently, we sang the song.
A silent song.
A personal song.
The ears couldn’t hear the song,
Only hearts could hear and see,
The song.
It was a song of hope,
Freedom, prosperity, peace,
Love, grace, truthfulness and tranquility.
It was our song.
A beautiful song.
There was a song.
Once a long time ago…

© Copyright 2012 Ayoub Mzee


Suddenly, the dread is real,
In a flash, truth reveals her ugly face.
The firm ground beneath gives way to acrimony,
Suddenly, the light goes out.
And it is a moment of the ugly truth.
But uncertainties best steals the moment.
Nothing pricks the psyche like not being sure.
Nothing is as dreadful as not being able to ascertain,
Uncertainties are a lot like dark darkness, and the victim grope vainly in cloaked darkness,
breathing pure fear and exhaling crystal frustrations.
Uncertainties mercilessly clips the wings of a bird that is willing and ready to fly away.
Uncertainties kills a sure future, leaving behind a sore soul.
An empty shell.

© 2010 Ayoub Mzee