kaleidoscopic spectrums of color
candy and lollipops
unicorns and goldilocks
cotton candy

pinks and reds
and vibrant hues of blue

flowers in fields
blooming and bursting in glorious scents

and falling
and falling
into darkness

and then

blinding light


it is morning





Smoke tendrils
Mumbling down from dry chapped lips
Whispering on callus hands
Floating away

Eyes fixed – staring at the distance
Seeing but not beholding the blend of hues that bathes the horizon
The sun in decrescendo – a masterpiece brushed by the hand of God
It’s all nothing to him
Brow furrowed
Lost in thoughtless thought
He takes another hit

The wind whistles
A camaraderie of gentle waves that sounds harmless – even soothing
But sneaks and sinks it’s cold long wispy fingers into his flesh instantly causing him to shudder
He ponders upon this deceit
And marvels at how similar it is to many scenarios in life
This life that is mystic and unfair

The jacket that drapes around his body reeks of defiant age – much like an elderly man who stands resolute, refusing to let time win
It is a losing battle, that much is clear, but his unyielding determination eventually starts to become something of a muted reverence
And so this jacket stands the test of time in obstinate stubbornness
Just like the elderly man, it will not be yield.

He repetitively flicks the butt of the cigarette Causing the embers at its end to trickle down where they are quickly extinguished
He watches, absently
“Such a vanity,” he thinks
He throws the rest of the cigarette down
Disgusted that such a small thing could cause him to thirst so avidly
How dare it hold such power over him
He crushes it under his heel in one swift motion and spits
He must quit smoking.

Thoughts From Laare


The car groans
Navigating the creeks and vales that form the man made road
I watch,
Spying on the men and women of the marketplace
Their hands rough with age and boasting of life haul sacks laden with produce over their frail backs
They move, dedicated and determined
This is their life, they don’t know any other

Her voice is rich
Like matured wine
A concoction of beautiful raspy vibratos
Kissed by feminine lips
It is unmistakable

Her deep set eyes crinkle at the corners
They are burning embers
Still they glow
A soft warm glow full of love and briddled with care.

Her laugh is deep and soulful
It is not restricted or hidden behind pretence
It is patient and wise, just as she
Rising up from her belly, tinkering her frame and then shaking her shoulders before finally leaving her lips; deep and alive

She prays; fiercely.
Calling upon the name of the Lord in genuine reverence and supplication
Hissing and snarling at the devil; annihilating his works and plans
He certainly cowers under her presence; she is feverent in her pursuit of the heart of God.

At a year older than I am,
She is still strikingly beautiful
What with brilliant white eyes, a full round face and pouty lips
Her dark creamy complexion seems to sparkle when it catches the afternoon light
And Oh how alive she is
A youthful river bursting at the banks, eroding and clearing anything in her path
She refuses to be stopped.



My heart knows your name
It twitches in my ear
Everytime I hear it

It flutters differently
On recognition
Like it knows something I don’t

It whispers, “HIM .. Pick Him”
And I go to stretch out my arm
But I stop

And I have to tell it
That I can’t..
“I can’t pick him..
He’s not mine to pick.. ”

But you see..
The heart is a complex thing to understand.
It’s constant hunger
For whatever it wants
Consumes it

It turns it’s head in recalcitrance
“But it’s him..”
It whispers
“I know it”

And I sigh
Seated in this tug of war
Because I can’t tell it to stop
And I can’t tell him to be mine



The distant hum of the water pumps accompanies the repetitively incessant bleep of the KPLC token bars soundtracking the night..
Ever so quietly obstinate..
These are the modern day crickets of the urban world..

A lone dog barks at a random stranger
Walking home under the moonlight
Unknowingly setting the stage for a hood dog bark off
South B version
The racket can be heard from a long way off

The standard metal doors squeal sharply turning on the rickety hinges that desperately fight the ever present friction to keep the motion going
They abruptly and decidedly ram into the concrete casings causing a large blunt noise that goes by unnoticed into the night

The baseline belonging to a particular sound system staccatos through the night in loud thuds
Dancehall maybe?
Whoever is listening to Dancehall at 0037h……

*knock knock*
Come two loud smacks on the neighboring apartment gate
“fungua!” a heavily inebriated voice slurrs startling the watchman from his slumber
The shuffling of feet..
A latch pulled back
Grunts away..

The distant constant swing of a wooden bed cannot be missed by a keen ear..
Didn’t quite catch it?
Waaaait for it…
There it is.
An increase in the tempo and a mild moan confirms what the neighbors in the upstairs apartment are upto
Moaning turns into screaming
And you giggle shyly
Looking away..

The scrunches of gravel are perhaps what you catch last before giving in to the enchanting whisper of sleep..
Fleeting bright light..
An idling engine humming away below
Bleep bleep .. The car alarm sounds.
The man downstairs has just come home..
His wife will not be happy.

Sheilah Mwiti


A lot of people
They ask me
Why do you hold your head up high so?
You don’t sweat your brow..
No hesitation in your foot fall..
You speak your mind too you know..

It is because I just am..
I don’t pretend to be..
I don’t try to fit into society prototypes
I accept who I have become
And I own it

When I step forward
And toss my hair to the side
I don’t falter
I look right into your eyes
And I speak

I respect the woman that is me..
I let her come first..
And I never hesitate to listen to her gut..

You see
She doesn’t look around for approval..
She doesn’t cower under your sneers and scowls
She laughs and keeps calm
She is and hasn’t become..

She is confident
And humble
She is meticulous
And beautifully unruly
Her own superwoman
With a value for those around her

She is force to reckon with
How dare you try tell her what to do?

She’s charm and wit
Concoctioned together
With a brush of beauty
And a touch of curves

She is I
Sheilah Mwiti
Nothing otherwise.

The Town Vagrant

Perhaps the pungent odour that masks him serves as his informal introduction
A mixture of garbage and an assortment of human wastes
Or maybe it is the incessant whines of the flies that dance around him
That let you know he is near

His hair
In all its rastafarian glory
Dreadfully hangs around his head
It billows in the breeze
As if in tandem with either of the dry bare cracked feet that land on the ground in a haphazard gait

His once-white-now-brown derelict shirt
Flaps carelessly in the wind
It knows of no single button
And bares the plains of his glistening chest
In all their pompous glory

He drags the left foot after the right
Fervor burning in his eyes
Ha! How liquor ignites his soul
The bottle is his unsung hero
His only source of merriment and cheer
It is his escape..
For with it he floats away
Away from the misery and misgivings of the common man’s world
Away and into Utopia

He slowly smacks his dry chapped lips
He must get another drink tonight

His hand is clamped in a furious grasp around his waist
It is the only belt these trouser remains know..
They were once brown
Perhaps even beige
But who can tell
Other patches of color sewn carelessly share the stage with this masterpiece
They cling to his slender frame
As if it is they that need sheltering and not he..

Be warned!
This paragon will not be deterred by your feeble recoils
Nor will he cower under your disgusted glare
He will still stagger and flounder towards you
In search of the next coin that will quench his insatiable thirst