Phone Numbers


Excellent dinners.
Exciting outings.
Quality time spent together.
A movie here.
A night out there.
Yet he won’t ask her for her phone number.
Yet she would never be the first to ask for his phone number.

She was a proud woman,
She who never stooped low,
She who always had her way.
But this man,
This one fine specimen of a vital masculinity was a something totally different…

She swore never to ask for his digits,
She swore never to ask for his facebook, linkedin, skype, google+, twitter and netlog contacts… Never.

Yet she longed to hear his tantalizing voice.
Yet she wished to read his mind through the social websites interactions with other humanities…

© Ayoub Mzee Mzima 2013


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

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

The Moment

When it finally hits home
There is no denial
There is no escape
The moment must be consumed
A sure win
A sure surrender
It is the moment
That truth finally reveals herself
She she claims her place
In reality
They are the best moments
Defined in the passage of time
In present time
The moment commands respect
Scripting the living time
And making history
In broad strokes of hope
This moment cannot be stolen
It is a moment that can only
Be defined by living the moment itself. The past, the present and the future fuse onto this one moment.
Our moment.
The moment.

©Copyright 2012 Ayoub Mzee

The Anatomy Of A Lie

A lie has many stages.
A lie has many lives.
It is easier to clasp a lie than the truth. A lie’s power lies in it’s ability to embellish the truth. Hidden in a diminunitive piece of truth, therein lies a lie. Lulling with grand possibilities soon you have fallen for a lie.
A lie is comfortable to the ears.   A lie is calming to the soul.
And so there lies the anatomy of a lie.

© Copyright 2012 Ayoub Mzee