Monday, April 27, 2009


I almost had her
almost had one to stick by me,
to lay low
and run mad with me..

I almost had one
to tell my issues,
to listen to her issues
and to share my issues..

I almost had her...


Mama didn't tell,
she never taught me,
she simply let me
run and fly free..

but mama didnt tell
she never taught me
that to run and fly free;
I must first know no peace

Friday, April 24, 2009

the injustice they do their hair..

"They cook their hair
with hot iron
and pull it hard
So that it may grow long.

Then they rope the hair
on wooden pens
like a billy goat
brought for the sacrifice
struggling to free itself.

They fry their hair in
boiling oil as if it
were locusts and the
hair sizzles.

It cries aloud in sharp pain
as it is pulled and stretched
and the vigorous and healthy
hair, Curly, springy and thick
that glistens in the sunshine
Is left listless and dead."

"The Graceful Giraffe Cannot
Become a Monkey,"
Song of Lawino and Song of Ocol,
1988 Okot P 'Bitek,

Sunday, April 5, 2009


She strums
Like her snaky fingers
were meant for no other
than her guitar,
she sucks in the air
In a way so divine
then lets it all go
In rhymes that
marry her wailing guitar
So faithfully and
So truly..

so truly that her tears flow;

tears that are her soul’s dew
thawing away
and bathing her..

Eroding away
the muck
that describes her life.

The beats
remain the only drug
that her troubled world
knows and understands