This where words get a life. cascading like the sweat on an african warriors skin. You were warned of bearded fellows,. Fellows like me, who have big hearts,. Hiding them in the rough allure of facial mimicry. You were warned about dating poets,. You were told of them,. Letters they claim were not meant for you,. Nyar Suba you know who the letters speak to. You were hard headed,. You were stubborn like Mboya from your backyard,. I do not know what I told you,.

A personal collection of poems written extemporaneously. Always on my mind,. She paces herself well,. For she races against time,. She can run a marathon,. One could call it life,. She lives each breath,. As she runs swiftly,. One step at a time,. She runs with passion,. A rhythm in each stride,. Her heartbeats are the music,. To watch her feet dance,. Like a cheetah in pursuit,. A predator on the hunt,. She runs like the wind,.

I hurriedly closed the last open curtain before carefully walking to my bed room. The only candle I had left flickered intensely; a warning sign that it only had a few seconds left to shine its last light. The sunset had long fallen past the horizon leaving a black haze over the sky. Is it because of her long luscious tasseled weave? .