Dear J;
I turn 25 in two days
and can’t stop thinking of the verse that the pastor mentioned last Sunday.

Faith is the substance of things hoped for
the evidence of those not seen.

Of course I am paraphrasing,
still not religious
and did not hear that  last Sunday.

I grapple with hope;
for every time I get close to things I had hoped for the universe grabs them off my fingers
and I like a starving man is left with a trembling stomach and jelly knees.

I don’t know how to admit to weakness;
I have built myself from leftover crumbles of life to describe it with spineless adjectives.

Faith is the evidence of things not seen.

and I am yearning for sight
working overtime
to build stars from ashes-
whispering to myself
“a handful of stardust after another.”

So here’s to 25,


Shiru_wa_Wanjiku 2015




Dear J,

I thought about you today;

about the scar on your right shoulder

your boyish fingers

and your squirrel laughter.


I thought about home,

and your definition of it;

How you keep saying that it is here;

the moment and not the place.


But how can you not belong anywhere?

How can home be so vast?


I wanted to call you;

Tell you how much my bones yearn for it,


how my spirit is creating memories of things that are not,

responding to names that are not mine.


I want home to be a place;

with faces I can recognize

and souls that embrace mine.


But we don’t always get what we want,

or do we?


Shiru_wa_wanjiku 2017

Image Credits: Mohabig



Turn on a Light.


It is not easy being here;

in my body I mean,

emotions swell inside me seeking for an outlet

and all I can offer is tight lips

and a dry throat.


I do not cry easily;

tears hang onto the eyelids pleading with them to not let go,

my lips quiver

and the wave of emotion goes back,

crushing into the stomach.


I have been teaching myself to let go;

Be like water,

but my feet are always on the rush

reaching out to dreams whose lights are dimming off.


I no longer know what to do;

Can someone please turn a light on?


Shiru_wa_wanjiku 2017

Photo Credits: Mohabig




Goodbye and Good Night.


There is a party going on downstairs;
Young women welcoming a new born-
a few ululations and lengthened laughter.

I have contemplated party crushing;
Just dorning in my only long dress and showing up-
but something keeps holding me back.

Maybe it is the lifelessness in the house,
or maybe it’s the thoughts of you.

They keep tagging at the back of my mind,
reminding me of the wildfire in my soul-
the constant rush in my heart as I head home.

Home is where you are not,

It is the altar prepared for supplications that are not yours.


But, you keep kneeling before it

stuttering short prayers-

building origami figures of what used to be.


Can’t you see,

that there is no messiah for us?


That the second coming was not meant for you and I?


Shiru_wa_wanjiku 2017

Image Credits: Kelvin Kaesa.



I am stuck here-

in a place with perfect balls of nothingness

rotating in and around me

A dull continuity of stillness!


I am stuck here-

with a boy oozing of sweet smell of cigars

a sluggish smile

and leftover love.


I am stuck here-

in the company of half-full wine bottles

botched dreams

and a tired self-love.


I am stuck here!

and all I seek

is a fucking whirl in the wheels of life!


Shiru_wa_wanjiku 2017




I live a lonely life-
In an empty hallway
with droplets of my past staining the floor.

My walls are my confidants
Harboring the most lonesome of thoughts
Matching up patterns to spell a future;
one that’s too bleak for people like me.

See; those like me are stuck on a highway of dreams
With the freaking lights never turning green
But constantly oscillating between red and yellow;
an eternity of waiting.

I am currently looking at the hallway of this life
begging the lungs to squeeze in one more cheer for me

Pleading with me to be there for me.

Shiru_wa_Wanjiku 2017




What do they call it at home,

the unrelenting yearning for more,

the need to belong to a cluster?


Are you living now?

or are you trapped in a lego paradise

plucking petals of breaths

whispering; “I am alive now…

and not!”


Do you have space to feel yourself?

the ugly patches that make up the whole;

the pollen before the bloom.


Hello, how are you?

Do you know you are not alone

in this jungle of stone?


Shiru_wa_wanjiku 2017

Photo credits: Mwass