Archive of ‘Poems’ category


On lofty heights or chaotic seas


Stand, swim, breathe, live, think that


Are broken, perfect, burdened, blessed, cursed, enriched so


Dance, cry, sing, laugh, sigh as


Realize that what is visualized may sometimes materialize if…BELIEVED

© wanjeri gakuru


I’m gonna be a mama some day,
my belly will swell and the world will tell that within

a beautiful being is slowly forming tiny toes and fingers,
filled with angelic shine, she’ll have her mama’s smile and her papa’s eyes,

I’m gonna get published one day,
golden calligraphy will spell my name,

‘ Excellent work’, it will proclaim
as shelves will fill with my soul’s voice in paragraph and tense,

On my birth’s day I’ll get a tattoo,
I’ll endure the sting to have this cool thing

that some guy will ink and in a couple blinks,
a magic mandarin mannerism
or just cool Kyuk in cursive will artistically run across my ankle,

I’m gonna sky jump on a Thursday,
kiss the sky like the birds, float on a cushion of nothingness,

I’ll defy newton’s apple and greet the earth in slow motion,
pulling it to my core as I become gravity,

And on a sunny, sunny day I’ll get married,
I’ll kick off my heels and dance down the aisle, smiling all the while,

we’ll be goofy him and I, we’ll sing our vows without refrain,
create a rhythm in which we will remain,

and that first matrimonial kiss,
will be as the sun bows down to bless our bliss,

I’m gonna… I will…I have to…because all I have to do is pick a day!

© wanjeri gakuru


She sat wondering where the dreamer girl went,

The one who drew flowers and slew dragons with a single flick of her belt,

The one who defied logic and rearranged the constellations,

The one who claimed the world her own, embraced it as one open to experimentation,

Now she sits on the cold and barren ground,

caressing these dreams of a far gone time,

Fertile ground?


Drained of purity and choked with grime,

Where did she go?

Does no one know?

Who wore this dress?

And made home this address?

She calls out for that girl

But her hallos echo,

Hollow missives that smash against the walls

Her voice is frail and weak,

A smoldering wick…

She must make straight her path and discard the cloak of the meek,

Or she will be the wedding dress that was never worn,

Fading with the ages with a yearning to be owned…

© wanjeri gakuru


When History is written by the victor

the tall tales of triumph dwarf the loser,

To him only dirges are sung from the footnotes

and his grave is littered by the brazen footsteps of marching bands.

But his lineage forgets not his name,

though time trudges forward all the same.

His words and deeds are praised

not loudly, not overly,

because to them his acts shall never be cowardly.

© wanjeri gakuru


We come into this world tiny and fragile,

Lungs gratefully gasping for that first breathe
when by natural means or c-section we greet the earth,

Our skin color is a pre-selection of a template made in the Heavens,

Its a cross-section of black,white,brown,pink or blue..
but whatever hue we have to look like mama and the right daddy,

Not the postman,the milkman,the shamba boy or the golf course caddy
and certainly not like that ‘special’ buddy!

Others will spring up tall with the eagerness of tended seedlings
or expand as wide as fat-fat pumpkins,


We’ll surrender our bodies to the world’s will,
Putting trust in its power to heal,

As our bellies extend in motherhood or malnutrition,
we become helpless beings,

Broken but brave,

Believing that somehow we’ll be mended and our illness well attended,

Through medicine or miracle we find one more day to feed..breed..sow that last seed,

We get one more chance to sleep in our beds,
To be among the undead,

Between that first and that last breathe we see life in its length and breadth,

We live.
We love.
We laugh.


© wanjeri gakuru

I delight in my poverty

I delight in my poverty,
See me drap my dirty, scratchy shawl across my shoulders
like softest silk or rarest mink,
I stretch my ailing limbs leisurely,
Pay no heed to the pinched faces and frowns that crease brows
As my black-black fingernails and pus-filled wounds greet the morning crowd,

Hurried feet scuttle away,
They fear to be my prey,
Hmmm funny, isn’t it for me they pray?
‘Lord heal the sick and provide for the needy?’

So I delight in the pitiful piety
that propels loose change and crumpled notes
into the dirty center of my bowl

But you are duped! All of you!

How do you think I got here?
In all my paraplegic-brain-tumor-homeless glory?
Do you think I crawled?
Played blind-man’s bluff to the busy street corner?

Ha ha ha


Most turn away but one remains fixed,
He is ever watching,
Not HE who feeds the birds of the sky
but He who watches my bowl with an eagle eye

See I am nothing more than a puppet on strings,
Forced to live off lost limbs,
Depending on the kindness of strangers
and the hope of fairness in the dealmakers
So my shawl is of mink and my cardboard bed is a plush mattress in crimson red

I delight in my poverty
because I have my pride if I have nothing else.

© wanjeri gakuru

My Ode to Music

When the beautiful music of the world

flows out of that speaker

I just get limber.

With my eyes closed

I see the music

Every word

Every note

Every beat

Just sends me dancing on my feet,

You see this hip-hop-lingala-zouk mix

is my soul’s religion,my opium fix

And these rhythmic rhymes

are like the boom-box

that makes my heart go thump-thump-thump

So as my limbs move to the lyrics

and my waist gyrates to the beat

My soul is soaring on this bridge between heaven and earth…MUSIC

© wanjeri gakuru

The writer who doesn’t read

If no-one reads this,I wont take offense
Because plain and simple me no read no tense
Well,actually I do but not so much anymore
Its about a quarter of what I did before
Tis a strange revelation this
And when did I get here please?

From childhood had my nose in a book
Deeply engrossed,yeah line,sinker and hook
Squeezed words between class breaks
Turned pages while taking bites of cake
Man and I read everything!
Funny or boring, silly or serious
Hata Taifa Leo nikiwa bidii-rious!
Now I barely get through a paper
Even reading magazines takes me forever
Used to read massive books in 2 days max
Now am on month 2 with a Grisham,ain‘t that lax?

What really has made me lyk this?
A non-readn writer how‘s that for a hypothesis?
But I just found out,you wont believe!
It‘s those damn Chinese bootleg DVDs
They got me up all night glued to my seat
The poor book by my side,no longer My Sweet…:(

I Miss You

I miss you…

So I sit here trying to send my thoughts to you,

Willing myself across borders and time zones to get to you,

My mind’s my visa,

Can you hear me?Feel me?

I’m that wind that’s playfully playing with your curtain,

It quietly whispers my words,

The warmth of your pillow so nestle within my arms,

Let me comfort you and with my thoughts wrap my love around you,an insulating blanket from harm,

Close your eyes and feel my energy,

I’m right there with you,

If only in my mind…

© wanjeri gakuru


Expletives fill my mind

But caution stills the tongue

I don’t want to step on toes, create foes or disrupt status quo,

But there is this girl and she is trapped,

Like the Bird Caged,

That sings of things unknown yet longed for still

Although her assertion has long taken ill and she stands frozen,

Like a lifeless loser, like she was the hapless mortal that gazed upon Medusa,

See this girl, her inner being is devolving,

Seduced by this silver serpent that she’s embracing,

That has her sold on smoke and mirrors that pickle her soul and clip her wings,

That has her rural tongue lay low and smooth so that it twings and twangs in foreign tongues and tales,

And her rounded venus? She’s shrunk with cabbage soup and peanuts!

So how can I not speak about this girl?

Whose veins run scarlet red with the blood of warriors, fighters and men of state,

She now stands on corners turning tricks,

And drops her a$$ and calls herself a video vix…

She’s been derobed and dethroned but this superficial world of glossy sheen,

See this, this is a sad existence for this beautiful African queen.

© wanjeri gakuru

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