Street Poet

Road Of The Wayward Soul...

2014-02-05T03:40:00.002-08:00

Beyond the smiling façade and camaraderie, In the inner sanctums of these flesh and bones, Lives a miserable soul dejected and tortured, By the hefty guilt of countless wrongs. Memories of hearts hurt in quixotic quests, Haunt his head when he shuts his eyes, Red-hot morsels of heart-felt remorses, Stifle his throat whenever he lies. A lengthy list of pilfered things, Tattoos itself to his consciousness; Torrential kicks rain on his covetous gut, From tens of feet of stepped on toes. Daggers fly towards his turncoat back, From bitter hands of friends turned foes, Angry faces contort noses flare, Lips crinkle eyes glare, When they stumble upon this wretched being. Alone at dusk he prowls the shadows, Dark thoughts his sole companions, Caged soul struggling to claw, Towards the light at the end of life’s tunnel.

Social Media: Three Sides, Same Coin!

2012-01-25T03:03:00.000-08:00

Readers always appreciate the third angle to any story. A unique take from an unbiased onlooker with no stakes is always fresh and appealing. Therefore, a brief commentary about social media from an antisocial writer would make for a good read anytime. Locally, Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Tagged, 2Go, Foursquare and Google+ are the main social sites. Young and old alike have jumped on the bandwagon with zeal. So, what exactly makes these sites popular among users? I digress.

Twitter: When Jack Dorsey and his pals launched twitter in July 2006, they couldn’t have fathomed the popularity their site would garner in a few years time. Six years down the line, 300 million users worldwide, including a substantial number of Kenyans, actively engage via the platform. Three cheers! But….. Twitter requires a certain amount of panache and consistency; it’s a way of life, an extension of your daily routine from morning to bedtime, emotions or lack of, and conversations with fellow minded characters (tweeps). It’s also ideal for breaking news and up to date information from anywhere. Even Obama and our own Kibaki are here (by proxy of course).

I learnt about the peculiar habits of kenyansontwitter the hard way. This social networking site is a lot like Nairobi City Center on a typical weekday. If you happen to be a first time visitor, you will be shocked at how everyone is always in a rush. Stop to ask for directions from someone and he/she will most probably ignore you outright. Insist on asking and you will be called a conman or a thief. It’s the same on twitter. Here, you are either a member of the inner circle, a welcome beautiful stranger, a tolerable but unmentionable guest, a hated/loved celebrity, or simply the weirdo with an egg for an “avi”. First timers have the hardest time on twitter. The lingo is a bit too much for slow learners, the speed to much for slow readers and “anti-nyitas” and the conversations too liberal for moral conservative types. Unfortunately, Dorsey and crew have done little to make it easier for idiots. *Good riddance, I hear someone whisper* My Take: Naturally, I am averse to following people and speaking to strangers, but I love the interactivity and entertainment value, especially the zany trending topics. Tweeting is not my thing since I am a loner, an introvert and a hermit by nature. I crave my personal space too much and like a statue on a pedestal, I love to watch the world go by from my ivory tower. @Moriohky is my twitter handle, not very active by the way. Next post will be on the most famous informal dwelling on planet earth, commonly referred to as #MKZ, in twitter lingo. See you there!! Five Tweeps worth following: The Witty Ramzzy, The hilarious Joe Muchiri , The Drama Queen Dopestchiqa , The KOT Leader baba amin That guy sickolia

2012-End Of The World, Kenyan's Will Have None Of That

2012-01-05T07:47:00.001-08:00

Its 2012, the year when the world ends, according to some zany Historians. Now, don't go selling your worldly possessions yet. Apparently, they are not a hundred percent sure about the exact date. Another reason, Kenyans will not accept it! Everyone knows what happens when Kenyans disagree with something, just ask Ocampo. Try and imagine the world actually ending as per the Mayans prediction

. How incredibly scary the prospect seems! Few Kenyans envisage a catastrophe of this magnitude. Even our staunchest Christians are having the time of their lives on good old mother earth, to hope for the second coming. Ask Juliani. The answer is always the same with these ones, Only God Knows! Maranatha! Kenyans do not want the world to end, pure and simple. How can the world surely end without Arsenal winning the premier league at least one more time? He Gunner and company will have none of that. Will the premier league air in eternal bliss? Or the champions league on hells eternal fires? I doubt it! What of K'Ogallo and Ingwe fans? They have not tasted Kenya Premier League victory for ages. Will their emotional fanatics allow the world to end without a fight? Will the world surely end without Raila becoming president? By all means, no! Did the Mayans consult agwambo? I can here his supporters ask. They will pluck out the railways and throw stones, if that is what it takes; the world cannot simply end without Raila in state house, period! The world cannot end without an analysis from Kenyansontwitter. They must explore this trending topic, they must make fun of the floating corpses in New York and Australia, they must donate funds to stranded tweeps in the diapora, they must tweet the breaking news, "Huge Meteor Headed Towards Muliro Gardens #2012". Kenyans on twitter must be given a chance by the gods to delve into the end of the world, after all, it it the biggest event of the year. How can the world end without tweeps knowing it? Impossible. The million strong, Kenyan Facebook community, will have none of it either. Ask the king of Facebook, the world cannot end, unless Zuckerberg says so. After all, he is a billionaire in his twenties, that's right a BILLIONAIRE. In all my life, i have never been ambitious enough to imagine what i could do with a billion Kshs. This guy is my age and he has more than that in assets; how then can the world end? This is the stuff that dreams are made of, not meteors accidentally crashing on mother earth, please! Kenyan MP's will not allow the world to end. First, they must debate this issue in parliament, the AG must make amendments and prepare a bill, parliamentary committees must approve it, the speaker must shout "order" and a vote must be cast. "How will the premature end of the planet affect our pension?" Khalwale asks? "Order MP for Ikolomani" Marende retorts. Oh! the drama on kukuru kakara and bulls eye. Speaking of Bull's eye, Kenyan scribes must take part in the end of the world special coverage, live from Nation Center, I&M Buildings, Royal Media House and other broadcasting outfits. Expert opinion from the likes of Mutahi Ngunyi, Alykhan Satchu and Chris Hart must be sought. Probably a pastor like Margret Wanjiru or the bearded prophet of doom will also be in studio to give their two cents worth. Of course, Joe Ageyo, Rita Tinina, Julie Gichuru et al; will be on standby from the capital to keep you informed on the progress of the end of the world. That’s right, All Kenyan all the time! In my humble opinion, the world will simply not end without Kenyans watching it from the comfort of keg pubs, rental homes and our favorite watering holes. Ask Mututho!

Confessions of a Sex Addicted Poet

2011-11-28T06:19:00.000-08:00

Sometimes me thinks am the world’s best player,
They should dub me Don Juan de muriuki; pussy slayer,
Hearts, please, I squash them underfoot like so much dust,
Broken Hearts fill boxes of mementos from my past.

See, I wasn’t like this always,
Breaking hearts is a habit I picked up along the way,
At the start, I was simply a romantic bard,
Kind of William Shakespeare the Third,
Giddy girls fell headfirst when they read my verse,
Kumbe, I didn’t know the blessing was a curse.

Like the proverbial piper, I played the same tune,
Everywhere I went, credulous Girls would swoon,
My very words would take them to the moon.
Unfortunately, their hearts too got marooned.
Soon, I built a solid reputation as the silent serial killer,
Charmer, thriller, breasts feeler,
Undergarments peeler.

I traversed diverse bedrooms,
My smaller head as my inimitable guide,
It was always a dizzying ride,
Up and down up and down, round and round,
Sex, best fetish I had found.
I nearly drowned of Saliva from frivolous French kisses,
And got lost on the hill and peaks of boob-Ville,
Where Infinite orgasmic screams haunt my dreams,
Contorted faces, hot breathe and sweaty skin,
Is all I ever see!!

It’s now six months since I’ve had one,
Man, its moon hard! (not my penis), the feeling.
But, no more late night calls though,
No more whispers under cover of sheets.
No more leering glances, spreading of legs,
Incessant thrusting of my smaller head.
Best of all though, no more salty tears,
Cascading down the face of another mere
prey of my poetic escapades.

Teach Me How to Move on

2011-08-18T07:12:00.000-07:00

Every thirtieth of December,

I cut a cake to remember,

the Birth of my Heart breaker.

January I cling to Dreams unforeseen,

fleeting memories like February winds.

March, i ADMIT, am weak,

April it rains i become so sick.

July chills with its giddy cold,

the sore of love lost refuses to grow old.

Gusty August almost September,

My Heart dismembers all over again,

vicious cycle so mundane;

Love is what Drives Men Insane..

October, November,

numb with heartache,i beg oh!

Teach me oh machismo's of old,

I plead to you shakes pear's and

lovelorn thespians.

Players,two timers,

pussy slayers and man whores..

teach me not to care,

to never be there...

Hit run Move on and forget,

walk away don't turn back lest,

I turn salt- bitter like lots wife!!!

and when the calender page turns

2012 comes, i will be forced to pen this poem

the very same way..

Musiclab Society on Reverbnation

2011-07-27T05:14:00.000-07:00

Meet this group of upcoming hip hop artists from Umojah 1 estate. They make music from a small home based studio. The producers name is Peter Weruh, alias Imran. Check out their reverbnation page and if you have an email account, please sign up to be a fan. Its so easy, simply click on the become a fan widget and that's it.

The dude pictured above is also responsible for the videos below. If you wish to hire his services, just drop me a line and i will hook you up. Thanks alot.

if you happen to live in Umoja 1 estate or its environs, you might also know of this one from the same guy:

yeah, that's talent for you, right there. You can also check out the guy on

Opportunity Knocks....part 2

2011-07-20T03:00:00.000-07:00

Josephine Awuor was an intern at the Daily Star, a local newspaper. She had completed her Diploma in Mass Communications at a Mid-level College and was anxious to become a reporter. Back in college, Josephine had aspired to major in Broadcast Journalism but was dissuaded by remarks made by fellow girlfriends about her looks. A tad too skinny and ebony black, Josephine became too self conscious. She viewed the Smart, pretty and sophisticated reporters and anchors on TV and decided she was far from that. In spite of this, Josephine had a mellifluous voice and fluent command of the languages. Her writing skills were slightly above average and the editor at the Daily Star often gave her the less than glamorous assignments.

It was mid February and the weather was hot and humid. Josephine was given an assignment to report on a breakfast meeting at the Hilton Hotel. The meeting between the Assistant Minister of Trade and a delegation from India was meant to be a filler for the business section of the Paper. Quite accustomed to such boring tasks, Josephine clutched her handbag with a recorder, notepad and pens inside and boarded a matatu to the City Center.

Early Tuesday morning, Crispin was in high spirits as he entered Njuguna’s office. The previous evening he had sold all his lines, fifteen of them, two phone chargers and a hands free device. This was his biggest sale so far and Njuguna congratulated him as he handed him his commission. He was allocated more merchandise and he strutted out smiling at lady luck. Crispin normally sold his merchandise at the BuruBuru Shopping Center, which was a choice location due to its nearness to his home and a large number of people. Today however, he decided to hover around town and see whether he could catch a break.

His sojourns brought him to the Odeon Cinema junction. He took out the SIM Cards from his faded duffel bag and began showing them to passersby. A crowd milled around the notice boards on the wall behind him. Naturally he turned towards them curious as to what they were reading. Apparently, several jobs were among the lists of announcements and Crispin got interested.

One job particularly caught his eyes. “Shop attendants for mobile phones and accessories required. Form four leavers. Walk-in interviews being conducted. Contact this numbers….” Crispin speedily wrote down the contacts and walked away. He bought airtime from a nearby vendor and loaded it on his mobile phone. The first two numbers he dialed were busy. The third one was unavailable. Crispin hesitated fearing the jobs had been taken. Quickly he redialed the last number on the list and after a few minutes a man answered.

“Hello, my name is Crispin and I am inquiring about the shop attendant vacancy you posted at Odeon”.

“This is Mr. Njenga, Manager of Trucall Communications. We have opened new shops in downtown Nairobi and we require several attendants”.

“Well I have experience selling lines and mobile accessories…”

“Very well, No Problem. Just come over to kiuna house on Luthuli Avenue. We are on the second storey, office number 3B.”

He repeated the details twice and Crispin thanked him profusely and immediately set off to find the place.

The Split.....A Short Story (Part 1)

2011-07-14T06:45:00.000-07:00

Krispin Wafula had finished high school two years back. Born and raised in the sprawling kiambiu slums, her mother Dorothy Nakitare could ill afford to take him to college. She had no husband and two more children to educate on a meager income derived from selling fish to the residents of nearby BuruBuru Estate. Krispin therefore decided to look around for a profitable venture that would not only earn him some bread, but also enable him to assist his mother in educating his siblings. Crime was not an option for he had witnessed first hand the brutal manner through which policemen dealt with such incidences in the slums.

Fred Ogada, his friend from high school, suggested they ride the mobile phone craze that had hit the country. He had seen an advert in the Daily Nation

classifieds that required form four leavers to sell lines and mobile phone accessories on commission. The pair set off one morning and headed to the city center. After a brief search, they located Union Plaza and climbed the staircases to the second floor. A hubbub of young people had already arrived and gathered at the reception room of Vision Enterprises, the prospective employer. Eager to start earning a buck, the two joined the queue immediately.

After some time, Krispin's turn came and he wiped his brow and entered the office. Seated behind the desk on a swinging leather seat was a middle aged man who introduced himself as Christopher Njuguna, an agent for a local mobile phone dealership. He then explained the terms of the job, Twenty Percent of each item sold plus a small stipend at the end of each month. Krispin nodded his head in agreement. Njuguna took down his particulars and handed him a number of lines, mobile phone chargers, car chargers, hands free devices and phone covers, to go and sell at a location of his choice. He was to hand in his earnings whenever they exceeded four hundred shillings upon which he would get paid. The security of the goods would be assured by his identity card which he left behind.

A fortnight later, Krispin felt slightly demoralized. The merchandise was in low demand and high supply so customers were hard to come by. Even Fred, who had pitched the idea, seemed less sanguine. In fact, his parents were haranguing him to give up this hawking business and join college. Ever the schemer, Fred encouraged Krispin that they shouldn’t give up on the job while personally, he planned his exit.

Two months later, Krispin was getting frustrated. Nobody seemed to care about what he sold, or probably they were too broke! Either way, he found himself selling no more than two items a day or none at all. The weather was none the fairer. It was mid February and temperatures soared like magma in Nairobi. Only a week ago, Fred had quit the job to start college. Krispin knew that he was now on his own and he resolved not to give up.

A young Man's Fears

2011-07-09T06:26:00.000-07:00

A young man's anger, is a little boy's fear's,
His laughter, a little boy's tears.
Afraid to come out, too scared to be,
Frightened of what others might say or might see.

He Drinks to hide his fear, does drugs to kill pain,
hoping against hope, just to stay sane,
where will it stop? when will it end?
He can no longer stand straight, he must learn to bend.
He must learn to reach out, learn to make friends,
or his mad escapades will be the means to his end.

You are worthwhile, you are worthy of love,
stop hurting yourself, seek help from above.
start to love yourself brother, then you will see,
you can be anything you ever want to be.

she

2011-07-06T05:10:00.000-07:00

she who shades the sun from my face,
and gives me the sweetest of roses in the world.
She who gives me reason to live,meaning to my life, love that i need when i need it. She who has a name that takes my breath away, and when she says my name;
she takes a beat from my heart adding it to hers...
When we are together, i hold her tight, as if she might flee at any moment;
when we are apart, she haunts my thoughts perpetually...
when we are "alone together" she breathes me in deep...
as if she were to take in my very soul...
adding it to hers....
Agnella...muse

Letting Go of you

2011-07-06T05:04:00.000-07:00

Love involves letting go, its the most painful part, but the most healing too. Am learning to Love again, am learning to let go.

You had my heart from the beginning and you'll have it till the end. Although I wish you would be mine forever, I now understand that it's time to let you go and finally let you be happy.

I wish you nothing but the best gal, u know i do. Albeit, it will kill me when the day comes that another chic makes me happy, I now have the strength to smile and appreciate what I had with you. I love you Aggie..it's a forever kinda thing..

If i cant have you let love set you free to flap your pretty wings around.