theropbrian

A Decade Just Went By

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Tue, 31 Mar 2026 09:14:00 +0000

A decade just went by,

As if by the blink of an eye

We are here, without much,

Except a sigh,

Not of relief

But a grim reminder

Of something impending,

Something huge

which we dare not name,

A decade just went by,

and we haven't much to show,

just gazing up the blue dome,

sometimes seeing stars,

but mostly dark clouds

We are alive, we whisper

we hope in dire silence,

that we have it in our bones

to push further,

Just a little further,

Hoping we won't sigh again

when a decade leaves us behind, again.

The Past Is A Jilted Ex

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Sat, 14 Mar 2026 09:09:00 +0000

The past haunts in strange, sinister way,

like a jilted ex, always lurking by the corner,

As you stroll, trying to be oblivious to it's existence,

It springs from the bushes, startling

And makes it clear it's not a prank,

Heart thumping, dazed

You are lost for words

to explain or extricate oneself,

or explain that she has no use anymore

But she throws that devilish grin

as if to say 'you and me are bound by the hip, Forever '

Dire Mornings

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Thu, 12 Mar 2026 08:03:00 +0000

Some mornings,

the alarm rattles you,

launching into the abyss of the wakeful,

dire mornings,

they force you to acknowledge that you aren't

loved enough,

that you must earn it to live amongst them,

by them, and for them,

dire mornings,

force you to accept that your life doesn't truly belong to you,

and so you crawl out of your bed,

put on mask that's your smile

And face the day like warriors of the yore,

And you assure yourself that you will not dire

in battle of life,

that you won't live for mornings

that show up without meaning

Alibis of Existence

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Tue, 10 Mar 2026 10:16:00 +0000

We need distractions aplenty,

we need them not as a cure for

our chronic unhappiness,

but to distract us from our own

impending deaths

The clock ticks ever so imperceptibly

Towards unwelcome death

We need alibis aplenty

Some take to drugs to hurry the date

with the grim reaper,

some take to women, a few whom they

ever learn to love,

And some live without the will to kill themselves,

And, like pendulums, swing back and forth

between drugs

and loose women,

seeking love from hopeless places

You Have Not Met Them

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Fri, 06 Mar 2026 15:42:00 +0000

You have not met them yet,

No, you haven't,

You haven't met that person

who'll make you lose faith in humanity,

Who will question your existence

You have not met them

In the meantime, enjoy

What Did I Do?

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Wed, 04 Mar 2026 15:43:00 +0000

She is somewhere, missing me

I am here wondering what

things I did to her

If anything, I lived unapologetically,

and loved her

in a carefree manner,

Never at once concerned if she'd leave

Little Money Debate

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Mon, 23 Feb 2026 16:24:00 +0000

I find myself debating with myself,

I have very little money,

And I am trying to find reasons to spend it,

She's asked for some,

Although I wanted her to so I can gleefully tell her I don't have it,

I find no thrill in telling her so,

The fact I'll say it from a point of lack

Robs me that thrill

were I in the proximity of a liquor den,

I'd have had a cheap one

And forgot my existence

for a while

The Making of a Poet

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Thu, 19 Feb 2026 15:29:00 +0000

I can't begin to imagine how

it all began

English language was as complex

as nuclear science

My buttocks suffered to my brain

to even begin comprehending

simple English sentence structure

I hated every moment of those lessons

The difference between there and their

sticks to my to date

Different Feeling

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Wed, 18 Feb 2026 06:47:00 +0000

I have not the same feeling

I felt eons ago,

You sound the same,

bubbly in a way that ticked

the soft spots reserved for you,

I do remember, wearily,

about those little things that irked me

those things I ignored just to be with you,

the things that made you say

I understood you

I did because there was none beside you

I should not have

And, perhaps, that's why you are alone

Hellish Experience

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Mon, 09 Feb 2026 17:28:00 +0000

It's a normal day,

Sun rise signal anodyne chores,

a punishment for daring to live,

we toil in the sun drenched earth,

only to prove why we deserve to live

Except we are looking for things we

know not,

and that makes existence a hellish experience

Life

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Fri, 06 Feb 2026 05:28:00 +0000

One morning you'll wake up

as though you've discovered the

secret of life,

What is it, you may ask

Some say it's simple,

But is it?

Yes, it sure is.

As simple as breathing

The Skeptic

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Tue, 03 Feb 2026 16:19:00 +0000

At first it felt

as though you would make away

with something a little precious,

but then I did confuse it with material things,

but overtime you stole much more

much more precious,

time,

a dream,

I felt bereft when you left

I still think there was a better way

to love

Blocked

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Sun, 01 Feb 2026 08:46:00 +0000

She blocked you everywhere,

But you were not aware,

Until she told you

How she wasted herself

You were not thinking of her

Maybe you did, but it was not

sufficient enough for you to worry

and you didn't get in touch

Calm

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Thu, 29 Jan 2026 18:02:00 +0000

there's calmness,

a lulling serenity,

in knowing yourself

well enough to reckon

that you're always on

Your own

when shit goes down

A Woman With Balls

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Thu, 22 Jan 2026 06:40:00 +0000

We met a woman with balls. It is a privilege of sorts, because very few people ever do in their lifetime. How did we know, you may ask. We known- get ready for the answer - because she said it. "I have balls!" To quote her verbertim. And you must believe whatever a woman says, especially when she's drunk. And it's in the morning. And she has dreadlocks.

It was a few months before the 2022 general elections. There was money to be burned. It was not surprising to find people drinking in the morning or in various stages of drunkenness. We were also in the process of catching up, although not on the benovelent pockets of a man or woman craving the debueached walls of Parliament.

We were seated, silently ruminating about dreams we'd never attain. Unaware, we were on a brisk yet imperceptible march towards alcohol addiction or dependency, whichever you call it. We sipped our cheap beers, unbothered and not bothering anyone.

It was in the morning, as indicated earlier. Nothing was badass. Nothing beats drinking in the morning, especially when serious tax payers are busy building the economy. We drunk during COVID-19, when all bars were closed. We were so serious no life-threatening disease would stop us. We were addicts then, but we never admitted to being addicts. Addiction happened to others, not us, we thought.

You may think that all we did was drink. No, we dedicated some time to thinking about drinking. Sometimes we worked, a terribly inconvenient way to get money as opposed to being politicians' children. Besides, we were (still are) afraid of jail.

It happened that the lady with balls was also an early drinker. She had an accomplice, a man. He talked recklessly about politics as if he was a man of great importance. We deduced later that he probably was a political operative sent to listen to the 'ground.' He pried. He prodded trying to elicit some political response from us. We kept quiet. Sometimes, when you are drinking in the morning, all you need is silence.

He talked in English. He thought we were foreigners. Damn. We looked like foreigners. We kept quiet as if politics was something way beyond our grasp. As we ruminated, the lady with balls emerged from the bathroom. The smell of cigarette wafted through. We never cared too much although there was a distinct notice that forbade smoking inside the bar. The owner reprimanded her.

It turned out that she hadn't been alone in the toilet, smoking. There was a man, a known local who fell on hard times due to addiction. He wasn't like us, we could never drink until we lose jobs. Such abominable things happen to others, not us. We sipped our beers to that.

When cornered, the lady pulled the woman card. She claimed that the owner of the bar was targeting her because she was a woman. As if the warning addressed women only, and not all women but her specifically. We watched quietly as she rumbled on and on about the unfairness of the notice against smoking. We'd never seen someone defend their right to smoke their way to lung cancer. We didn't intervene, nor interject at all. It was her against the sign. Which was pretty clear to us.

She went further to claim that the bar wasn't even his, that he was riding on a woman's (a Woman like her who deserves to smoke where there's a sign prohibiting smoking) benovelence. That he was nothing without her. That without her he wouldn't be able to talk to her against ruining her lungs that belonged to a woman. And then she began attacking his manhood. At this point the man realized that she had stooped so low that his presence there was no longer required. How things can descend from smoking to manhood is a matter that baffled us. Secretly, we were glad our manhood wasn't under scrutiny although it should have.

"I have more balls than you," she said laughing at her seemingly ingenious thought. "You only have two while I have thousands." She spoke with such conviction that you could have thought she was capable of impregnating a man.

She talked by herself sometimes supported by her colleague. She had so much to unpack, as though she was waiting for that precise moment. It's unfortunate that some drink while angling for a fight or confrontation. It's worse when it's a woman because, well, there's no reason to hit a Woman.

Eventually she cooled down. The conversation tapered to some random irrelevant topics. However, there was only one question in our heads, which balls was she re

ferring to?

It Happens

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Thu, 22 Jan 2026 06:34:00 +0000

It happens,

almost always,

as though don't coax it,

without silence

with lack of resolve,

eventually we end up

being the very people we loath

we are okay doing nothing

just dreaming those big dreams

How Do I Miss You

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Mon, 19 Jan 2026 06:54:00 +0000

I don't know how to miss you,

I have tried but I can't,

I guess longing for you needs a manual,

an how-to,

it somehow feels as though it can't be

a DIY project,

there's a science to missing you,

and I am an ancient man,

a man who tells time by the sun's position,

and years by crop harvest,

seasons by locust invasions,

for that I am duly lost, disillusioned in my longing,

probably undue,

I don't know whether we'll ever meet again,

I have reserved my missing you,

were it possible,

I'd pack the precious little moments

we shared,

the brief love,

the laughter, that often felt as though it was stolen,

and store somewhere,

somewhere I'd reach occasionally,

to gaze and remember to miss you

just for a second.

for a brief vain moment.

The Drunk

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Fri, 16 Jan 2026 16:27:24 +0000

when you no longer exist,

in anyone's plans,

its you alone, in your decrepit hacienda,

rolling tobacco on obituary section of old

newspapers,

you are like a shadow, present

but never missed

mulling,

ruminating,

meditating,

you no longer dream

beyond your next tipple,

it's over for you

it was over a long time ago

The Silence

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Sat, 27 Dec 2025 06:52:00 +0000

The silence,

the borrowed silence,

as if we are tiptoeing

around each other,

one numb,

the other uncaring,

the haunting silence,

the silence of a machete,

and a shovel

The Interloper

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Fri, 26 Dec 2025 07:15:00 +0000

I am alone,

an interloper

in a place I should call

home,

the stench that wafts

after me is failure,

I am an intruder,

stalking,

walking around unseen,

I am of little use,

sitting by boulders

in unseen corners,

trying to be invisible,

I am not welcome in

spaces where men have

opinions,

for I, an interloper,

has not more sense

than cow dung

Too Tired Too Early

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Wed, 24 Dec 2025 09:29:03 +0000

an unreedeeming yawn,

today's promising dawn,

filtered into a bucket of

unfulfilling days

unearned fatigue settles

like dust

the head hauls unnecessarily heavy

thoughts

thoughts of yore,

dreams unlived

girls unkissed

abandoned stories

again, unearned fatigue rattles,

a warning,

tomorrow might begin

too early

too early,

always too tired too early

I Have Loved You

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Tue, 23 Dec 2025 14:12:00 +0000

I have loved you in ways,

in ways devoid of common sense,

I've loved in the quiet desperation of

an addict,

I have loved you

in ways that asked nothing in return,

but all I gotten in return

is jeering silence,

as if my heart has no discernible rhythm

Distance

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Fri, 19 Dec 2025 15:05:00 +0000

the vast chasm between our

hearts,

regrettable, though

I kinda hope you are okay,

The Worst Recedes

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Fri, 19 Dec 2025 07:01:00 +0000

the ever overwhelmingly inviting

pop sound,

of beer being beheaded,

the taming sip, a slow

slide towards uninhibited night

unhibited pockets,

daring damsels swing their posterior

endowments

the deejay cranks up the volume,

The Little Dog Is Dead

noreply@blogger.com (Kipchirchir Rop) — Mon, 15 Dec 2025 08:01:00 +0000

I whistled at the little dog,

It gave me a listlessly solemn gaze,

as if I was disturbing a sacred exercise,

as it tried to borrow a few sorrow-filled hours,

by lapping water by the cowshed,

the curved back, poking ribs betrayed

it's eloquent emaciation,

It left it's pain for my speculation,

bore it with a bravery only dogs know how

I knew it wouldn't make it

and I wouldn't interfere with it's fate,

for the dog had yet to have a name,

even if it had, I am not too sentimental about dying dogs

I am not attached to them

With time, someone will stumble upon its bones,

for a dog chooses solitude for a dignified death

And tonight, it's loud absence will shroud the compound