It is in my most fluid form that I get to embody the depth of my way with words. It is when I am not sure of the next word but somehow can still trust my moving fingers with everything they type.
I can't say that I am the kind of poet or scribe who would admire my work yet but they are so many layers and dimensions to my narrative and I am just trying to portray as many of them as possible with what my soul feels is so little.
(i)... multitudes.
If you looked past the last of these masks
the self clenches onto a web of selves
that lie within the shell
That proclaims I am.
(ii)... unforgettable lover.
I thought I heard the soft of your voice
and memories of who we once were
spilt into my longing mind
awakening the desire
to have your breath speaking
to my skin again.
(iii)... lost paradise.
There lies a paradise down on the milky way
Losing its magic to the erosion
Of a billion feet
Following a hundred greedy mouths.
(iv)... pirates on land.
Before they came to steal from the people
they sent their white spies
on their wooden horses
that rode the wildest of the sea
and spoke of the second coming of Christ.
(v)... bleeding sunsets.
Dusk has come for the sun and his smile
and a man rushing to beat the night
forgets that the hour unfolds in seconds.
(vi)... these uncensored pens.
The weight of what needs to be said
sits at the cliff of my poetic tongue
unafraid to fall off
the edges of this wordless mouth
onto the boldness
of my rhyme and prose.
wambuku w.
