Word Art

Akon Buoi It ends here All the gragra, from eighteen to eighty From morning to night Sunday to Monday January to December It ends here That seductive skin That oval face that turns every man on That flamboyant dress That charming  and elegant body It ends here That exotic cars That intelligence  That fifty degrees That beautiful wife  That fine children My friend it ends here That fame which you seek most That luxurious life That "upon all my wealth" That "do you know who I am?" It ends here That I am not your mate? I am richer than you  I am beautiful  Many boys woo me Infact girls fight to have me It all ends here That your good poem Your power of algebra  Your good English Your all round best It is just matter of time But it is a must Painful truth to accept  6ft awaits all That is where it all ends So you have nothing  You are greater than none Stop behaving as you are a god In a twinkling of an eye All will go into thin air..     Humble yourself !!!! From dust

By: Author Carolyne Afroetry MA Dear Abuser,  How does it feel to spread my charred thighs Like a futon? How does it feel to caress my aching body with your rough hands? How does it feel to push your abusive penis inside a corpse And wail like a a banshee? Those are not moans You see. Sex with you feels like death.  The Unapologetic Poet- *From her new collection: Our house is a graveyard #GBV 

They said  In my youth I was beautiful and elegant and my eyes glowed like the emeralds,  They said,  I would  twist necks of men to dance on my direction when strolling on the streets,  They said,  I was the envy of the village maidens,  They said,  My  face was shining like that of the ancient beauty goddess,  They said,  I  was moulded beautifully like  the pot meant for queens,  They not only said,  They composed songs,  Village musicians had songs on my honour,  That was then,  My beautiful baby arrived  from the comfort of my womb and stole my thunder,  She took away my beauty every day with her giggles,  She took away my attention from my mirror,  She brought down my little  hills to lowest levels,  She suckled literally the sap of beauty from my body,  Maybe they would say again,  I'm now a beautiful mama  of a beautiful baby girl,  A baby  suckling beauty out  from me,  Hey girl,  Today,  Before you talk of your  beauty,  Think of mama,  You stole the show from your  beaut

By: Albine kirui Some hours are unholy for some stories,  To narrate a story that happened  one hour past midnight is a devilish story if not describing the stories of the nocturnal hyenas.  No one can  believe a story of a woman roaming after midnight looking for milk like a witch. Without blinking she narrated this story that happened past midnight, She never told us how she cuddled her husband to sleep,  She never narrated the warmth of her matrimonial bed,  She told us indirectly  that  her husband was naive and without reason,  Which husband would let her wife roam  at night looking for milk,  when the milk man  was only milking his cows in his dreams,  This story of Jane was already soiled with blood,  That she was sick past midnight was really the hangs man rope that winded on her neck without knowing.  If she was really sick and her  story was true,  Her husband should have been the one worrying about milk for his sick wife.  The unholy story ended sadly,  Salomon never lived t

 I wanna write a poem  One about a woman  The daughter of my eldest wife  The one I don't call by her name  I wanna write a story One about my favourite person The one who only seems wrong  When she makes things right  I wanna write a song  One about my source of motivation  The one I don't point a finger at  Nor exchange words with I wanna paint a picture  One about my mother  The only one whom my pain  She feels

Amidst the trail of my thoughts  I came to a halt  Something eccentric But somehow familiar I felt a gap in me  That drew me close  Closer To reality  You ever did your best ?  But never succeeded ? You ever felt you deserved something ? But it just slipped  Outer your firm grip ? Did you hold your chin in pain ?  Or you shed tears ...  That still didn't make a difference  Or mayhap it did  Because life  Is just a mystery

I want to write about this picture  But I don't have the strength  My hands are shivering  My hands are sweaty  The pen is skidding  And the things I write don't make sense It's confusing how multiple states can exist in one How we can have so much on one end  And completely nothing on another  Plenty of rains in the west  And everlasting drought in the north  Are the forces of nature biased  Or this is just how life should be Without balance ?

Dance all night long And practice yoga the next day.  Drink wine but don't forget your green juice.  Eat chocolate when your heart wants it  And eat kale salad when your body needs it.  Wear high heals on Saturday  And walk barefoot on Sunday.  Live high and low.  Move and stay still.  Embrace all sides of who you are.  Be bold,  Brave,  Spontaneous, And loud, And let that complement your abilities  To find silence,  patience,  peace  And modesty.  Aim for balance.  Make your own rules and follow your own path. And let nobody tell you to live like them.  Balance is the key.  Be you.  Bye bye!