Roses for dinner

She’s been calling for hours

Sent mails I don’t reply to

Deep down I know she misses me

But I can’t do this, my trust is bruised.

It’s six in the evening

All dark and raining

“I’ll wait at the train station”

Another mail pops up.

My heart gets heavy,

I decide to let her in

She promised to make dinner

I feel full, so I just grab some roses

As a light there she stands in the rain

“Have these my lady, don’t worry about dinner.

It’s us for the night, let’s have roses for dinner.”

©Stumah_2019

Windows to the soul.

She smiled and held my hand at the table.

I was used to this, but

This time it felt different,

I could feel her chocking on something she wanted to say.

Slowly losing control of herself,

She chuckled to hold back tears

She wasn’t good at this,

At least she was human enough

I moved closer to keep her warm,

“Why do you think I am crying?”

I looked into her eyes and smiled

“You don’t believe this is happening

It’s written in your eyes.”

©Stumah_2019

Undeserving

As I walk through the valley of death,

She’s been here all the time,

I wonder if she deserve this

Or am I the one undeserving.

The beatings and insults each day

Reporting home late and drunk,

The lies I pasted

And false accusations right in her eyes,

I think I didn’t deserve this.

She takes care of me at the lowest,

Moments when drink buddies are nowhere to be seen.

She gives me a shoulder to lean on

And knows times when I need her the most.

Why then did I share her matrimonial space with someone else?

She deserves better than this ungrateful me.

Am the undeserving that got lucky.

©Stumah_2019

Midnight chuckles

She rolls on her side

She’s warm, her skin still moist with sweat

I can feel her heart beats

I turn her over, she looks at me and chuckles.

These are moments I lived for,

When I can forget the hustles of the day.

Moments when I need to rid  pressures and thoughts

Every time I hear that chuckle,

I know I am home and it was midnight.

We tell stories of olden days

And freeze into each other.

Slowly as sleep creeps in

As I struggle to stay awake, and my speech gets unclear,

As assurance of a goodnight sleep

I hear the midnight chuckle one more time.

©Stumah_2019

Home

Waking up to morning Kisses, one

Ready breakfast, and a warm birth too

She knows the exact temperature I like my tea, three.

Straightens my tie, says a prayer for a good day

She knows it’s what I need, she’s home to me.

Lunchtime calls,

Reminding me to drink water.

She’s a guardian angel, true she’s an angel

Friends worried where I went to,

Mail, I have a home at home.

She waits by the walk path,

Face glows at my sight.

Throws her arms around me then whispers,

“I’m home for you.”

As she grabs me by the tie, and leads me inside.

©Stumah_2019

Hail Mary.

Nine out of ten,

Rate, then tell a lie

To keep her closer to you,

She’s hurting hiding in false comfort

Hail Mary, show them likes don’t matter.

He’s been hiding,

Starving in a mansion.

Afraid of what people will say,

People who call him Lord among men,

He went bankrupt, but has to keep up

Hail Mary, show them even the rich also cry.

It’s her third bottle,

She don’t understand how she got here.

She thought it was cool,

And saw the need to fit in.

Now she’s used to it, can’t get off the hook.

Hail Mary, show her the essence of being herself.

©Stumah_2019

African Feet

Evidence of a long journey,

Stories of patience and tolerance

Ones clad in chains

These feet that rule the world.

Graced plains,

Like Kano and the Mara

Mwembe Tayari, where they stepped last

Then off they set to build the West.

Led the search for trade and pasture

For war and marriage

Slowly they made way for generations,

These African feet.

©Stumah_2019

Butterfly fields

It is here where we played

Hide and seek, sometimes soccer

Every holiday in the midday sun

These grounds were sacred,

Sacred for any child we grew up with.

They showed when the dew dried,

Different colors, impression of rainbows.

Freely floating in warm air

Moving side to side giving the field a heavenly look.

It is here where we learnt,

Counting seasons with appearance of butterflies.

Some showed rainy season approaching,

Some showed drought coming.

It was a play ground that told the future,

It is the butterfly field.

©Stumah_2019

Roses at The Tombstone

I felt misplaced

Wondering in here in the morning

It’s true I miss her

The site of her name here gives me peace

As the tombstone grows old each day

I get calm knowing she rests in piece.

Who brought these here?

The bunch looked familiar

Hadn’t noticed them earlier

It was misty for my poor sight

Such roses had caused war in my house.

Neatly tied, like for the living

Why these why now?

Beside it a note from anonymous

“Memories of you are killing me slowly”

I picked the roses and walked towards the gate,

Trashed them on my way out as I whispered to the air,

“Maybe he loved you more than I could.”

©Stumah_2019

No return

Can he really see this?

Can he even feel this?

She hasn’t slept for days

Everyday at the doorstep waiting for him to be home.

He promised to be here soon,

She made a wish, he was to bring a present.

The bond of father and daughter,

She needed him here, it was her sixth birthday.

She woke up excited

Thought he was finally home.

There stood two messengers,

Bearing a letter and a flag

She was a kid and couldn’t understand

But this was a message of no return.

©Stumah_2019

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