Desire vs Imagination: I'm I foolish to keep on hoping?

“When your desires and your imagination are in conflict, your imagination always wins the battle.”  Emile Coue

I longed to find the one

just one

I longed to sit and share moments of what I was 

of what I would become

I longed to have another by my side

that was my desire

then I found one

the one

I thought she had another

and another

for I never felt like I mattered enough to her

for her

I was always looking to see her part

that was my imagination

I sat alone again

and hoped that she would take my plea

my begging my requests

I changed my imagination

centered on my desires

it was late too late

it started with no we cannot keep this up

it ended in "never! This can NEVER be"

and now the imagination won

I have to content with this state

at least until I know my fate

I longed to find the one

and even when I had her within my reach 

I let my imagination win 

but my desires still burn me inside

they nudge me

they prod me 

this desires have a mind of their own

tell me I'm I a fool to keep on hoping?

my little piece of ginger

I saw her it eating ginger

She did it secretly

Like it was taboo

A sin

Something not to be spoken of

She chewed at it

With surprising dedication

The curiosity couldn’t bid wait

What with the bitter taste in my mouth

Okay

I get the tingly burning sensation

Like the tongue is in momentary ecstasy

It was like a drug that raw ginger

She must have been addicted

I saw her eating ginger

One more time

And when she saw me see her

She hid it

Like it was a taboo

A sin

Something not to be spoken of

I stepped up and asked

So what is with this ginger?

“You really don’t want to know”

If I didn’t I would not have asked.

“It’s for the morning sickness”

Blank

“I told you, you wouldn’t want to know”

Still blank

I took a piece of ginger

This was for my nervous sickness

my Kenya unplugged

The light at the end of the tunnel has been switched off

There is no inspiration
no brilliance
no sparkles or eureka moments

its just a sullen desperation
an oozing of negation

its a pitiful sight
watching them in the shadows of light
eking in darkness
fearing for their own plight

its a tad disgusting
sometimes bemusing
as we await for their mouth to part
and their ever depressing monologue starts

a lie
a hypocrisy coated of democracy
dressed in a black suit scarlet shirt
and of course, with white polka dots, a black tie
feeding the hungry masses with the nonsense from a rank high

a cordial smile
followed by an incoherent speech that runs a mile
punctuated by senseless quotes
serving to punch in awe and importance to a resolved clique
where democracy is a miss

then comes force
like revenge, its served COLD!!
to the young alike to the old
from trucks, on foot
and on horse backs
its hell in reality
ignited by the mere spark of the fool
the common people's fool!
Now trailed by their own trained 'army'
his words hang on to like some important developmental tool

the same fool
that was described by many as buffoon
now herald and worshiped like some god of the moon

fathers standing armed to protect their homes, their kids and kid mothers
mothers rushing to cover the kids
kids cowering behind
fearing for their safety
'soldiers'
'soldiers'
'soldiers'
creating new frontiers

a critical family change
fathers now stand down and are marched around their homes
mothers are slaves and factories for producing more 'soldier' kids
kids are forced into war with themselves and their parents

all in pursuit of power
the crave for a money shower
a loss of principles
a succession of similar principals
submissive governance
oppressive rule
dressed in a black suit, scarlet shirt and of course, with white polka dots, a black tie

another lie
this time with titles, ranks and degrees attached

why should we wait to jump out of the pan
yet now we fry
shall we wait to roast
and have our children lament
watching them propose a new toast?

The light at the end of the tunnel has been switched off

what shall we do?

...
photo credit

the sun

Its the sun
Of midday
Of midnight
Its the sun
When it rises on your end
It sets  at mine
Its the sun
Praised most when the winter bites
Asked, desired, craved when the storm gathers
Its the sun
High and mighty in the sky
Shines for me shines for you
The big 'ol yellow flame
Sometimes the sun is too bright
Too sweaty
Too scorching
Wilting
Its the sun each time
Beautiful or harsh
Its the sun
When it sets on your end
It rises on mine

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for the woman behind her man and the man taking it for granted

I know,
It’s enough to know there were happier times,
There were moments when the bridge burnt to ashes
Then the rebuilding up from scratches
There were times when the head just couldn't be held up high
And it was propped up by crutches
It was at times when the tides got so high
It looked as though the time was nigh
So I turned to mama and asked
What exactly did you do?
and she said it was then I realized just how much I loved your pa'

#iwantthat too

Often we take for granted the women that see past our masculine bullshit, those that know when we are blowing little else than hot air. We, as men, speak of equality but catch as dead practicing it. We are the victims of our own pride and more often end up in positions of boredom for all we have is a yes girl.

I am lucky to have been in relationships where I was challenged and my very belief on certain topics thrown down the gauntlet. I have come to appreciate a woman that sticks when the pocket grows thin and the things get thick. A woman that drives, pushes and even evokes hard work within and out of me.

I have learnt that even when all you think of doing, say you will do and plan to do matters, at the end of the day unless it’s done you earn little respect for yourself in her eyes. Primarily a woman can tell all about you in a matter of time and it won’t take long for her to figure you offer nothing more than just dreams. She has the fairytale already she needs to make it a reality with you. If she has to push you uphill and downhill again she is better off being the woman behind another man. Get your act right, I know I am getting mine.

Love Y'all

Henry Anubi 2012 ©

@chenja_

A guest post for  Plus+254 -Get it,Live it!

I DARE TO DREAM: I AM

How is it that one person who publishes daily another who does it  by week and yet a third that sits up and wait for something to hit all refer to themselves as writers? From what logic is it said that one must be famous to be considered achievers? We attach to much importance to what others see too much value of what they feel we are. We allow others to control all plus our mind, forgetting that the buck stops at none but us. If we made it they share our joy if we fail, they scorn some even rub it in our faces. Meaning well causing harm, we let it get to us and start living by their standards striving to get to their mark. I am what I want to be, I am what I choose I am because I say I am.

I DARE TO DREAM: I AM

I am a swimmer

Not because I won the local meet

Or for the records and times I set

I am a swimmer

For every time I plunge head first in the icy waters

I surface with ease

To me that’s no mean feat

I am a singer

Not for the albums

Not for the record deals

Not for the hit singles attributed to me

I am a singer for I can hold longest a note in the shower

I am a singer

For when I sing,

It lifts me and sets me apart from thee

I am a dancer

I haven’t gone out on a world tour

I haven’t choreographed with the largest smallest or any ensemble that be

But I am a dancer

I rearranged my room with my leaps and my falls

I wowed my dog with my steps down the hall

And saved a red face when I didn’t step on her toes

I am a dancer

Even my shadow partner says I am

I am a fighter

No belts

No sponsorships yet

No agents scouring for me fights

But yes, I am a fighter

Hitting canvas hitting net

Fighting hard to stay awake

Tonight I’ll take left

Tomorrow I am up here darting from right to left

Giving just as much as I take

Giving twice more

I am a fighter

 I fight.

I am a poet

Sonnets

Haiku

Rhythms

Rhymes

Lots of similes unheard

I am a poet

Passive

Active

Alive

Must I go into explanation of what lies above?

I write

I am a writer

I give life to words

I carve letters I arrange fonts

I give images to lifeless syllables

I am a writer

I speak freely from the heart

Arrested by my pen

Convicted by my thoughts

I let it pour out at my paper

My screen

My template

I am a writer for I chose to be one

Before you tell me I cannot swim

Get into the waters and do it

You say I cannot sing

Belt out a tune for me

Before you criticize my dancing steps

All up in arms to hand my shoes,

Glide across the room let’s see you leap and twist

Before you say I sucker punch

Stand on the end of a three minute blow fest

Let me watch you get back up and punch the air rousing the crowd for support

And when you look at my product and sneer

When you see my words and snigger

Sit me down with pen and paper and say

“Son this is how it’s done”

For my dreams are my own and my output my sweat

But pray you get the courage to guide where you see I’m wrong.