Beautiful people,
They don't come easy you see,
Real beauty,
That which does not age,
That which stands the test of time,
Beauty that the whole world can attest to,
One heard by the deaf and seen by the blind,
That is what I'm after.
Your soul so bright,
Your eyes like a light,
Purity is what I'd use to define you,
Carry it in thine hands,
And tell the world that I have,
Known your inner person,
That I have been blessed enough,
To see that which many are yet to set eyes on.
I have seen you.
I have seen your strength,
I have seen your courage,
And witnessed the life of a girl in an environment as harsh as the one you live in.
Viewed as a piece of property,
Piece that measures wealth,
Like you would an animal or tracts of land.
They forget that you alone,
Are the most expensive piece of wealth man can know.
You possess value that can't have a price tag.
Not to worry dear child,
Strength is measured by the days you have seen the rising sun,
While on your two feet as you face your enemies.
Carry your pot of water.
However cracked,
it carries its contents home and fills a bigger tank.
Everyone sees the crack,
You do too,
And I as well,
But that does not deter you from being who you are.
Fighting everyday to stamp your existence,
To people who merely view you as a piece of property.
Fight on dear child.
You.
You are what we are after.
The African child.
She holds all hopes of days unseen on her cracked heels,
Her snow-white eyes, her curly hair, her dark skin,
Rich like her continent.
The beauty in her beads, however heavy,
Transcends to all those around her.
This is what I'm after.
Her ability to take each scorching sun,
And turn it into a bright day full of hope.
This is what we should all be after.
Is it not?
I am blessed,
That I have known you.
Heavens have favoured me,
For I have on me dark skin, curly hair, cracked heels and full lips.
I have seen my reflection on the mountain river.
The blue sky surrounding my face,
The sound of the flow surrounds my imagination,
Filling it with hope for a new day.
As the river flows,
And as the forests remain green,
I shall be the African child,
One whose predicaments are numerous,
But her faith remains as strong as the deeply rooted Mugumo,
Deep and wide,
As vast as the Lake Victoria,
And as refreshing as the coastal coconut trees.
Trembles,
That's what they are.
Trembles.
They shake you up to levels you have never imagined.
Trembles.
Defying them defines you.
Staying away from them quite impossible.
Trembles.
They'll follow you to the deepest holes,
And catch you before you know it.
Sucking all the heat away from you.
All warmth.
Warmth from happiness,
Warmth from love,
Courage's warmth,
Confidence's warmth.
Trembles,
Oh they can be heartless.
A man is sad when they are destined to catch him.
Trembles to the heart cause fear.
Fear so deep it melts the coldest heart.
Fear,
That which freezes fire.
Trembles.
Beware, for they come without warning.
In shadows and whispers they hide.
Darkness their only home.
Trembles,
Oh you should avoid her.
She'll come disguised as a beautiful woman,
With the subtleness of a hare,
And grace of the savanna antelope.
You should tremble when you hear her.
She doesn't announce her arrival,
She walks with the silence of the feline's paws.
To be forewarned is to be forearmed.
Not all that glitters is gold.
Bear your weapon dear friend.
Sit still,
And let not trembles descend on you.
Machete in discipline,
Bow and arrow in openness and honesty,
Trembles can be overcome.
Live your life forthright.
Let people look at you and say,
He was a good man.
The book of your life has one author that is you.
Do not tremble in defining your own path.
Fiction, prose, play, poetry,
All that you can choose to put down,
As the unfolding story that is your life.
Trembles seeks not those who write their own story.
She trembles at the mere sight,
Of souls whose story they write each day.
Sometimes I,
Feel like I am fighting,
Fighting forces that will not back down,
Forces that end up determining who I am.
Forces whose path I do not understand.
It's tiresome.
Instances where I am filled with so much hatred,
Hatred that fires up my eyes.
Hatred even for fellow human beings.
People I should instead love.
These forces,
They make me,
Make me think of acts,
Acts I fear thinking about.
Being full of oneself,
Selfishness,
Pride,
Pride that leads to big falls,
Falls that may destroy all that I have built over the years.
But,
Achieving all that I deem so special ends up feeling so empty.
What I thought was pure, turns out to be slimy.
And after losing alI thought was useless, I feel lost, empty.
Empty like an abyss.Trying to fill the spaces feels so hard.
And I can't stop.
Over and over I try to read one page at a time,
But I find myself with three books in my hand.
All emotions in my path intercepted today.
They all ganged up against me?
For me?
I do not know.
I only know I need help,
Fast,
But if I know I need help,
Then I am safe,
or perhaps there's a bigger problem,
Something I am yet t understand.
I fear the unknown.
Help.
Me.
They loved me,
Because I was a good storyteller,
Sharing my story so well
I felt like they were there
Only problem is I only said the beautiful part.
And now you think that's all I made you believe,
That I lie when I say I love you,
My children,
If I should put all the fear away from you,
And do so by making you believe that bad doesn't exist,
Then go right ahead and believe.
Because bad exists in what you believe.
Happiness is a choice.I ask you to pick that path.
Believe in my story telling,
Of boys met and of moneys lost.
Believe all I have been able to share with you.
It makes me who I am.
Who you know,
Perhaps not every piece of me,
But the most believing part
That carries more weight than flesh and blood.
Believe the stories of this storyteller,
Perhaps not as genuine.
I lied, in a bid to make you know the truth,
That life offers you choices,
And to believe storytellers, or not,
Those like me who say what we deem fit,
Truths and half truths,
Of loves lost and of good music,
One whose lyric says all we hold near to the heart,
Whose beat is the one in the heart,
Will make you wise.
Was I good a storyteller?
Of lives lived and friends lost?
Of ties broken and and bonds newly made,
I sure hope I was,
One to inspire your own story,
However different from mine it may be.
It don't matter too much.
I hope I form part of any bone in the body that is your story,
Be part of the heart that makes it live.
Of stories told in mine shared,
I, the storyteller ,
Of the lore yet written.
