Bunguswa Writes.

When I sit under the mango tree; breathing air that's free- I oft° smile at the whirling wind, wishing away the turbulence in my mind. When I listen to the morning joke, off my neck I unchain the yoke- this that weighs bow my bony frame; so I smile not to impress, but my anger to tame. I greet not with a sullen face, even though I've known no peace. I've a consuming flame within; embers of anger smoulders me thin, but then, oft° revere the violence- resident in my silence. ©Bunguswa Brian™

Teach me. Don't tire reminding me- the core of humanity that knits me. Teach me the beauty  resident  in my silence; show me the light  silent loughter gifts the universe. Bless me with a soul, mind and heart  that reciprocates a slap  with a smile. Let me learn to touch, tenderly like a newborn. © Bunguswa Brian ™

When you made up your mind; that chilly morning, you bed me goodbye- albeit the piercing drizzle. My plea couldn't salvage you from the sharp, razor breeze, and in fright of losing a black Pearl, I dashed after you- only to be cuddled by utter numbness. At your nose-height, you peeped back in disguise. Like a serpent, you had chosen- along a cutting-trap to die bleeding. Frozen I was,  when I saw you socked in your red of a split body. Had I seen the trap; I'd have warned you, but loathsome as you were, could you have listened? ©Bunguswa Brian™

I am Mathew not Hamisi, call me Mwanaisha not Daisy. Listen to my cry brother, my unemployment should be a bother. Criminalize not my stay in Garissa, I strike with no alert in Mombasa. Brother! Judge not Omar by my curly hair; light skin Wanjala I maim and kill in black skin. To Raso you invited me for a tin of flour, in Hiirima I was a sparkling flower. And to Mogadishu I returned a soldier decorated, maimed in Mandera when tension escalated. I don’t want a comeback to kisimayu Eel Dibi my employer I warn you! I don’t want to kill, stop my recruiters in Mombasa ,I appeal. Extremism where is thy head and tail? You bite by the venomous Al-Qaeda, Al-shaabab gallops our youths via the porous border. extradite Maghreb of the Sahara, to rid our state of incitement to terror. Extirpate Mujahidin from territories of Kenya, and free our youths in Ugenya. Beat not the head nor tail, Boko Haram is a blind snake you will fail. Mama support my schooling the epicentre of critical think...

I might have tried, not good like the rising sun, to overcome what couldn't be overcame. I've battled it to the last breathe, while dying will not be proof of my effort; when gone they'll say I gave up, when giving up was the only option. How does it feel when one fails? Failing is a term too cloudy! But in a battle you are bound to win; albeit the reverses of negative energy. When overwhelmed you can be defeated; enduring pain that's unknown to winners, when overwhelmed you can be defeated, of much annoyance it can be to your spectators. But how does it feel to be defeated, when dedicated you've been to winning? I am not giving up when the latter is an option. I am not dying even though it is a battle for life. But who'll tell people if I die trying? We know not you tried your best they'll say. We've seen many surrender to death they'll intone . But dying I don't want to die! When my dream hasn't come off my sleep. Death I don...

Remember when I could sing, in a resounding melody, of your name? Tall you grew but for my song, crippled was my name in so cheap fame. My melody grew wiser and tender; massaging your poison-appled heart to the core. Like a pianist's fingers that are slender, I yearned for my melody softer you'd grow. But again you waved a ticket to a Piper's heart, lighting a rather girlish grin on my face. I cleared a froggy-becoming throat- that once exalted you in a reaffirmed world space. Amazed be not, if my melody will twist: piercing to the bosom of your heart- to contravene your never-rivaled peace. ©Bunguswa Brian™

You shuttered my dream before I rose- you must have kept vigil in my mind. But you forgot to inter the optimism; I thus dust my knees, and rise toward the morning sun- like a desert flower, over the sandstorms I'll not cower.  Had you slept in my mind: you'd have shared the dream, you'd have shaped the hope, but solemn insomniac gave you away- to shred the vision to pieces. Blankly we stare at the bare sky; the abyss, embracing the blinking hope. If our tears should sour  the bosom of our hearts, like rain water on a rotting thatch, the weed will bloom. If sour rain should blanket our eyes, depriving us the nourishment; thirsting us frail, then, brace no more to wail. © Bunguswa Brian ™