Photo by Susan Wilkinson on Unsplash

Floodlight courage, instantaneous past the suspicion of fear:
The testy swing of a flyswatter to houseflies, here and there,
Poking restlessness. The sudden privilege of gripping
The TV remote and pushing down harder, quitting
On the power button before hurled wherever it must land
To tune out the news reminding us of the gloom jammed

Palpitate-crawling past our orifices: The last hospital,
One less bed, one less oxygen tank, as newspaper-written,
While experts work out the probability in a thousand
Of who’s life is promised in a fight that’s crowding
Against the virulent Covid-19 and suggesting aseptic temper,
‘Make it a holy ablution surpliced with…

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

Love and faith. Changeless evergreen quick ambling
Adroitly to and fro of yellowing and chlorophyll dazzling,
The green holding the sweet of unripe mango hostage
And mud-nested before the moon is washed in
To utter enchantment, waiting in the slag turn of time
Leaden with myriad other errands to fulfill rhymed
With juggling on the balance of who died first
Between Adam and Eve, such first endings versed―

The secret stories retold from the lower lip
To the upper lip and ends with a mum sipped.
The artwork that begins with a question and ends
With cumbrous awe of what was the question…

Photo by Andrae Ricketts on Unsplash

Birthed through an old pain, we sprung,
To a living word on a mother’s tongue,
Saying, ‘My baby!’ Nurtured by brave love,
It kept calling until an umbilical root thereof
Took hold, a bone stem mineralized spinous,
And a heart tipping out to a leaf’s likeness
Green with ardent life and always
With the hazardous hope of it awake;

For it scathes, blotches, dents a heart in its punches
To a sallow leaf or a newly grieved mother grudges
Whose child’s bones hollow out marrow unsentimental
And in place, burrowing worms and loam settle.

Still, never askew motherly instincts and…

Photo by Marten Newhall on Unsplash

Living outside accuracy, waiting for death
To hold our eyes back to us to make aware.

Years of gazing at insatiate mirrors―a recognition motif,
Distort the sweet pride of our physiognomy
To a vulnerable and rending wound
Of wearing the body inside-out, up-down,
Sweating blood devotion that hopes and hopes more
For something other, ready to orphan itself out of cheer:

A deception of seeing eyes plunging free
Into the sky to end up drowning in a sea,
A betrayal of a sniffing nose on a stinkweed
Mistaken for honeysuckle at a striking synced speed,
A menace of small furies such as quick ashing

Photo by Mark kassinos on Unsplash

Double bodied, we gather in oneself―I am,
Split by immutable sunlight. i the shadow-diagram
And the day judge of twelve hours with a mute tongue
Of movement, silhouetting the mystery of origin unsung,
And maintaining a simple truth―we are one
Which often goes unheeded, trampled on a run
In our stampede for greed and despair. am is a verb―
A first-person singular present of being. More perturbed,
Often selfish, offish, and congregate on a latitude strung
As voluptuous as a country, religion, mother tongue,

Or such gravities or maybe trivialities that tether one than other
In their outlandish place―something a besotted traveler
Would say tippling down cultures, flying over latitudes,
Thrusting onto…

Photo by REX WAY on Unsplash

A rush of schoolgoing children. Everything’s a play,
Play is everything. Commotion squeals
At any hint of outside. Drinking breath,
Spitting half of it back―the mark ever sets for go!

And I was standing taller at eleven
With a pair of rented flamingo legs for stilts
Or such shenanigan, whisper-passed round back to me
In paper planes that crashed at my feet―ominous:

Once as a class, we took flight on them,
On the instruction to clear the clutter.

Then I was high, higher, running faster,
To an incinerator, to damnation anointed by blood
On the forehead, spurt out by a sharp…

Image by Tibor Janosi Mozes from Pixabay

Bare life―a sky crowded with lurid nothingness
On a single summer day that rose up enough
But will not set. It keeps needling its cliché
In some travelers’ drab irises the same way
Without any luck for some silver-winks, pair by pair,
Since there’s nowhere to be except where they are,
And there are no journeys behind them begun
To keep blood flowing warm; for blood, there’s none.

Such hopelessness is excruciating in short.
It lacks the bravery of movement, of thought,
Or such strife and of a wasp tight-roping
On a spider’s web for the black widow, provoking;

It’s a riddle with one way to obviate it―to dissolve
The mulish…

Photo by Nsey Benajah on Unsplash

Anger flits mid blinks like an elusive tint of ruby,
A distant bush fire on a panorama of wilderness―sooty,
Burning the entire rack of rationality considered
And the ashes discarded to the highest bidder―
The highest tide. The most alive thing and riotous
That it could answer where days roam to tireless.

Oh, the irony of anger to startle such righteousness,
To utterly annihilate who it possesses to enliven us
Like a perfecting death without dying―a rebirth guise:
Flared nostrils, sped up pulse, bulged out eyes,
Then the yelling, the kicking, the punching―fist deep,
Which dwindle on soothing arms of judicious blitzkrieg.

Yet often than not, it’s the indolent cheat…

Photo by william santos on Unsplash

A bone-tired mind rips itself to bits of dry paint
Like the tedium of a painted sunflower, flaked.

Sometimes, it is its own sunshine, solitary
Without the heaven of standing tall voluntary
Than the frame that boxes it in, and not skywards,
Where it’s taller than a roomful of mawkish admirers,
Where it’s tallest than the familiar abeyance blown
That settles in while footfalls settle out―

Out, where the possibility of dirt holds between
The root to root deeper to rise to leaf and leaf,
Petal and petal and petal, round, they fill a dazzle,
Punctuated by sweet dew and meditative mizzle
To caress the long outstanding spine and…

Photo by Pranjall Kumar on Unsplash

Far things like the command given to lightning,
To hydrogen atoms that keep the stars shining,
To Adam to come away from the apple tree
Before a gravitating apple strikes his head, chaotically.

(The fall of man is in his desires and how far
Into the abyss, he’s willing to fall for them more.
Aggravated also by the snowball effect
In their multiplicity, in their differences expressed,
And wanting to keep within their groups
With one murderous way or no way loops.)

Tart things like an apple’s taste, not as bright
As its color. It’s a brief thing and crunches in bite,
Like a dry leaf with…

Wanjiku Wanjiru

should my words collide with your heart in a dance of chance, my noble deed is complete. thank you for stopping by. call me Wanj ! © 🌻💕🌼

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