;

WhatsApp Image 2019-05-02 at 20.21.47

Lately my poems start like this;
collected mind,
dried tears,
and a soft spirit.

Unfolding before my eyes is a battle I am choosing to lose;
dimming the show lights,
walking away in a sigh.

I should give myself a standing ovation
for a battle well fought;
for the pain and cold well braced.

But I can tell this is not the end-
Someone,
please pass me the blood bucket.

 

Shiru_wa_wanjiku 2019

 

I wrote Fade a month ago. Last weekend, my father showed up at home and I am currently completely lost.

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Fade

6s2a6659

After you left;
I take in my nights like I take my evening cup of milk;
Stealthily,
pausing to taste the distinct taste of disappointment,
Clasping the mug tightly as if to stop from falling
a heart too burdened by pain.

Tonight;
Slow fade by Ruth B is playing in the background,
Silently,
like the unsaid prayers
dangling from my mothers lips.

I am hoping you fade;
Memories of you to wash out like my favourite pair of jeans,
Syllables of your name disappear
like a sunset stolen by evening rains.

 

Shiru_Wa_Wanjiku 2019

*my father upped and left sometime last year and this is the first time I am able to write about it*

 

Books

 

IMG20181231092037

Books like these lead to nowhere;
They start right in the middle
describing brittle laughter,
light conversations
and eyes full of hope.

Books like these talk of love as easy;
like petals gently kissing the ground,
“He loves me, he loves me not,
He loves me.”

Books like these speak of Wednesday evening like they would a Sunday morning;
warm mugs of milk,
uncomfortable snuggles
and jazz music.

Books like these speak of souls blooming in purple and blue,
Souls infinitely becoming.

 

Shiru_wa_Wanjiku  2019

 

 

 

 

 

Distil

 

img_0698

What is the word for the feeling you get morning after you cry your eyes out?

Catharsis:

Your body buoyant like a fluid

head light

and puffy eyes.

 

What of the moments you paint your dreams with faint font,

whispering prayers through dried lipstick?

Hope:

Like  a mother waiting at the shore

for a soldier son in high tides.

 

What is the word for hiding your hurt

passing it out like a thin fart hoping no one smells it?

Distil:

Learning to heal your wounds with slow Sunday mornings

jazz

and cheap black coffee.

 

 

What is the word for being young, hopeful and miles from home?

Me

A young lass learning to become.

 

@shiru_wa_wanjiku 2018

 

 

 

26

cropped-final-blog-2016.jpg

The thing about getting older is how you love:
Lightly,
Gently,
like dandelion and wind
keeping each others spirit afloat.

The thing about getting older is how you breath:
Easily,
Soundlessly,
like a feather settling on still sand on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

The thing about getting older is how you grow into yourself:
Freely,
Patiently,
like the moon going through it’s phases till it’s full again.

The thing about getting older:
Is how much you become.

Lover

KRN_0183

Dear Lover;

 

Lately I have been thinking about you:

your bushy eyelashes,

the depth in your spine,

your laugh;

how it dangles from the lips like a reminiscing tear.

 

I think of our hanging goodbye;

mine:

unspoken, kept inside as a hidden path that leads to the treasure that is you.

yours:

unspoken.

 

I think of our sinful nights;

halfway smoked blunts,

sluggish whispers of hopes,

dewy, lusty kisses.

 

On these days I wonder-

should I come running to you,

what would I find in your heart?

a whisper of my name?

a yearning for a lingering night?

 

 

Lover;

I wanted you then,

intensely-

and sometimes, even now

I still do.

 

Shiru_wa_wanjiku 2018

 

Highway of Dreams

cropped-krn_0196-1.jpg

There is a fire in me;
an ignition to a land I know not-
a myth of my own making.

There is a sojourner in the mind;
one holding back the reins of my dreams-
slowly sipping the race off my bones.

There is a battle raging in me;
boots besides my bed that are too huge for me to fill-
and a folding spirit of what was once a soldier.

There are rapid visions in my head;
of a land dripping with milk and honey-
But all I am is a small village girl
carving out a place for herself in a big city.

Do you know how hard that is?

 

@Shiru_wa_Wanjiku2018