Those dainty things,
Those cute and distant things,
That flies away like butterflies,
That twinkles away like stars,
Whenever you come too near.
Whenever you come too close.
That they keep on offerring.
That they keep on giving I.
That I keep on calling promises.
Empty promises.
My people,
If not careful,
These promises will kill I.
I don’t eat promises.
Do you?
No, you don’t my people.
Shelf life of promises is too short.
My memory is too long.
Your tomorrow is your yesterday,
Devoid of substance.
Devoured by lies.
Here I lie,
Patiently watching your lies.
I’m not lying.
My people,
If you give me one more promise,
I will go mad.
My people,
Give me something else,
But not promises.
A promise is a beautiful lie.
A promise is an elagant mirage.
A promise is a cunning bird.
Always catching me off guard.
The promises have run away,
And my purpose is gone.
Don’t promise to promise.
I beg.

© Copyright 2012 Ayoub Mzee


The Night Beauty

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

She, An acquittance

Candid candour,
Brave look, and I have stolen some future.
Sweet stolen haze.
Kind of familiar but fleeting.
A certain look in the eye, and my comforts are promised.

It is the missing link, the missing piece in our epic saga soap opera.
I have been searching in vain,
It was hard.
But in this she,
It is some different metaphor.
Fear of vast possibilities hold I at ransom.
Suddenly, reality is too real and giving in and surrendering completely is some daunting chore.

She, an acquittance is gone.

© Copyright 2012 Ayoub Mzee