The Real You

There is certain person
A special person
A powerful person
A beautiful person
A great person
A wise person
A mighty person
A blessed person
A wonderful person
And that person is you
Existing inside of you
And has always been part of you
The real you…

But unfortunately
You have been on the run
Running away from this special person
Sadly you have been hiding from this wonderful person
The real you…

You are afraid of this person
You cow in awe of this person
You really admire this person
You are frightened by the sheer power and potential you instinctively sense in this person
But unfortunately
You have been alienated
From this person
The real you…

Fake beliefs
Have all separated you
From this great person
The real you…

Be yourself
And remember that
You are here
Not to please anybody
Apart from your dear God

It’s time
To holistically
With your real self…


The Brick Layer

He lays bricks methodically,
One by one as he carefully takes measurements,
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…


She called me the other day.
And we spoke.
I was glad to hear from her.
It has been such a long time.
Since I last heard from her.
So many years have gone by.
So much water have passed under the bridge…

Now Winnie used to be our tea girl.
In an outdoor advertising company that I used to work for before it was sold off.
Now Winnie was one smart woman.
She bought plots in Mathare area with her modest salary.
She had invested heavily in the sacco while we took beers at Tropez and Ibiza.

When we were all fired off,
Winnie had already constructed  single rooms for renting in her plots in Mathare. She had regular source of income while we hustled for the bus fare…

Now Winnie called.
And she wanted to know about PIN numbers and car log books processes at the Kenya Revenue. She had bought a car….

And I remembered about the humble Winnie who used to serve us tea while we swung in the rich leather seats bought by the company while wasting time on the internet. Winnie used to sell us mandazis, airtime and soft loans…

Time passed on without our knowledge. But good old Winnie was very aware of the willy and cunning nature of time and she did what a wise woman would do. She wisely invested in time and her meagre salary…

Winnie used to rear pigs in her small plot. Winnie used to supply eggs and chicken meat from her small plot. She sold kerosine to Mathare people…

Now Winnie is a major supply of everything under the sun.

A journey of a thousand miles starts with one small step…

Kudos Winnie.

One day I will Call

I might not call you today,
But just know that,
I still have your number,
Just keep my number,
For one day,
I will call you,
I don’t want to call you right now,
I just got too much pain,
And I don’t want to pain you,
And I don’t want to burden you,
With unnecessary baggage,
Maybe you will understand,
Maybe you won’t understand…

I was to call you,
But I never did,
Honesty demands courage,
Yet I am a coward,
A celebrated one,
There is so much I would like to share and air,
But I just don’t have the strength to,
And so I just keep quiet,
And send the occasional text message,
One day I will call,
Just keep my number,
Just like I keep yours…

One day I will call,
When the sun is shining,
And the darkness has cleared,
And the clouds have gone away,
And the birds are singing again,
And the streams are flowing again,
And prosperity has known us,
And happiness has married us,
And joy is us,
I will call then,
One day I will call,
I will call,
Trust me,
And I am gone,
Into the dark night,
Keep my nangos,
Keep my number,
One day I will call…

Days Like These

It is days like these,
Bright and sunny,
Gay and warm,
Mellow and wondrous
Gentle and understanding,
When I miss your smile…

It is days like these,
Mellow and fine,
Playful and naughty,
Sweet and close,
Fresh and nibble,
When I miss the twinkle in your eyes…

When you coming back home?
I ask, but the mirror stares back at me,
Bereft of any answers.
Bereft of any light…

But again,
Days like these,
Took me back,
Back to the place that we first met,
Back many years,
The beautiful park…

It is here,
That I have found another sprout of new life, a new love,
Sprouting with the same pride and determination.
But what happened back there?
One day I will know.
One day you will understand.

But for now,
Let me nurture and nature,
This wondrous seed of hope and possibilities…

Ah. Days like these…

© Ayoub Mzee Mzima 2013

Movin’ Out

Movin’ Out

She sat in the front courtyard,
And watched silently,
As the neighbours moved house.
She saw a torn chaise lounge,
Aged with time,
And full of both warm and sad memories,
Being hurled into the waiting truck.
A tired bed was next,
Many a generous generations,
Had been sired,
Upon it’s wobbly legs.
An avalanche of various sad and worn out wordly possessions followed,
And were unceremoniously being heaped upon the old and wheezing truck.
Ah. Moving out…

Her neighbours were moving out of the run down neigbhourhood.
A place of shattered dreams.
A home of sordid existence.
A destiny of vicious circle of poverty.
A shanty townwship.
A place where no one lived.
A place where no one survived.
A place where people just existed instead of living,
Not unlike the forlon and unforgiving sordid structures,
That they called home,
That housed them grudgingly…
Movin’ Out.

She didn’t care,
To know where her neighbours,
Were moving to.
To her,
What mattered most was that,
Her neighbours had managed atleast,
To move out,
To escape,
From the tight grip,
Of this slum.
No one moved out.
The slum held you down,
Suffocating your dreams and will,
Killing your resolve and ambition,
With a determined efficiency…
The slum became you,
And you became the slum.
There was no moving out.
Movin’ Out it was then.

But her heart glowed with hope,
When she saw her neighbours,
Moving out.
She knew deep down,
That she too will move out one day.
she wanted to escape from this meaningless existence.
She dared dream of a better life,
Out there.
She deeply knew and believed that,
She too,
Would one day be a star,
And shine brilliantly,
In a dark night,
And upon the whole wide world…
Movin’ Out.
She will.

©Ayoub Mzee Mzima 2013

Growing Up Suddenly

We grew up,
Too suddenly.
We were never given an opportunity,
To just be ourselves,
To play around,
Without care,
And without abandon.

And other obligations,
Were thrust,
Upon our way.

Our shoulders,
Were too tender
To shoulder,
All those expectations.
We just hope,
That we did our best.

Time will judge us justly,
We hope.

© Ayoub Mzee 2013