Merry Christmas and a Prosperous New Year

It's been nice and, let me say, encouraging to have had your company for most of this year. It has been a pleasure to have been writing my blog posts for your eyes only: I have loved it every bit of the way.

Why am I writing all this? Is it that I am throwing in the towel on blogging and indirectly bidding you goodbye?
No, never! Once you have been bitten by the blog bug it becomes pretty difficult to wean yourself off blogging. It is one of the best addictions I have seen around for a long time (at least better than drug addiction, what do you reckon?).

The reason for writing this: I'll be travelling upcountry to visit family during this festive season. For this reason, I'll not be able to blog for a week or so.
"Why?" you ask.
The 'upcountry' where I am travelling to is not well served with Internet facilities. Internet 'access points' are few and far between. Anyway, I'll miss you all.

Feel free to visit my other blogs (links below):

African Affairs

Career and Workplace

Fgm: Down With It!

Finally, I wish you a Merry Xmas and a Happy New Year. Till we meet again: Take care and God bless you!

A Fly in the Soup

Diner: Bring me some soup and make sure a fly isn't in it. When I ate lunch here yesterday, there was a fly in my soup!
Waiter: Oh, that can't happen today, sir, because our special is frogs' legs.
Diner: What's today's special have to do with a fly in my soup?
Waiter: Before the chef cooked the frogs, they ate every fly in the place.
.........................

Diner: Waiter, there's a fly in my soup.
Waiter: Don't worry, sir. The spider on the bread will eat it.
............................

Diner: Waiter, there's a roach in my soup and he's drowning.
Waiter: Well, sir, shall I teach him how to swim or strap a life preserver on his back?
..............................

Diner: There's a fly in the bottom of my teacup, waiter. What does this mean?
Waiter: How do I know? I am a waiter not a fortune teller.
..................................

Diner: Waiter, there's a fly in my soup!
Waiter: That's alright, sir. He won't drink much.
.......................................

Diner: Waiter, there's a dead fly in my soup.
Waiter: What do you want us to do – have a funeral?
...................................

Diner: Waiter, there's a fly in my soup!
Waiter: I've been looking all over for him.
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Diner: Waiter, why are these flies in my soup?
Waiter: Because we're all out of DDT, so we decided to drown them.
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Diner: Waiter, there's a fly in my soup!
Waiter: All right, I'll get you a fork.
............................................

Diner: Hey, waiter, there's a fly in my soup!
Waiter: Shh! Everybody will want one.
...............................................
Diner: Waiter, there's a fly in my soup!
Waiter: What did you expect with the cheap dinner – a hummingbird?
...........................................

Diner: Waiter, there's a fly in my soup!
Waiter: Ah, cornered at last!
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A Slip of the Tongue

In the shoes of a teacher whose tongue did a jumble, in front of the whole school and parents on closing day, when he was reading the marks of the pupils for all present to hear.

'Twas on closing day,
When my tongue did a jumble,
Not my liking, I suppose,
But it did all the same.

'Stood up to read the marks,
And I called parents pupils,
Tried again, stammering,
But it didn't help a thing.

Okay, I was corrected,
And called parents parents,
I could see them smiling,
Smiling at my slip.

'Asked them to forgive me,
For I would read in Kiswahili,
There again my tongue somersaulted,
This time my face felt hot.

I don't know what they thought of me,
A tall, good-for-nothing teacher, maybe,
But one thing I know, surely,
All of us 've had a slip one time or the other.

Please Forgive Me

These are the words of a man asking for forgiveness from a woman. It takes loads and loads of guts for a man to ask for forgiveness from a woman. Most men believe asking for forgiveness, especially from a woman, is stooping too low and that it is a sign of subservience. However, I say, men of honour admit when they are wrong and, unabashedly, ask for forgiveness (even from women!)

I am lost for words,
Because of how I played my cards,
It's a real shame,
To even imagine.

'can't imagine,
That I did it,
To no one but you,
I simply can't imagine:

To you,
Whom yours is mine,
And mine yours,
I did such a damn thing.

How could I break your heart?
I know it hurt,
Right betwixt and between,
The wound and the flesh.

Oh, please do for...

'can't bring myself,
To say what I must,
(Though, I really mean it),
Please honour my request.

Don't shame me this once,
Lend me a listening ear,
Right, are you set?
Let me spill the beans.

I verily entreat you,
And earnestly ask,
Do forgive me,
Please forgive me:

Oh please do...

Love

Eyes meet,
Hearts soften,
Softer than butter;
The heat in the bowels,
Melts the heart,
And it starts flowing,
All over,
Down to the legs;
Weakening them,
To the hands;
Making them do the works,
That no other can,
To the head;
Making it dizzy,
To the eyes;
You go crazy.

The melt heart,
Flows out to the other,
Eye talking to eye,
Wanting only the best,
The very best,
For the other.

Do You Really Know?

Do you know,
Really know,
What you think,
You know,
Really know?

Maybe you just think,
That you know,
When you don't know,
What you know,
And what you really don't know.

So do you think,
That you can know,
What you really,
Don't know,
When you don't want to know,
That you don't know;
And that you will only know,
When you accept that you,
Really don't know.

So do you really know?

Nail on the Head

When people want to say something,
They beat about the bush,
They don't want to push,
They feel it's not posh.

I reprimand 'em,
In the harshest of terms;
If you want something,
Get it without thumping.

If you so do,
You'll reduce alot of loops,
Which form the nooks,
That destroy our looks.

School

When early I wake,
The trudge at stake,
The shoes at flake,
For school, I take.

When my time I take,
To get to the gate,
The prefect on date,
Records my fate.

When we start the day,
The teacher on stay,
Keeps laziness at bay,
By shunning play.

At the end of the spell,
Of education's well,
We feel swell,
In the power of school.

Your Eyes

Your eyes look, blink,
How wonderful your face is,
With your small, white, oval,
Distinctive feature of your,
Round face,
Your Eyes.

What a magnet they have,
They look, a sweet smile,
On your face;
I was captivated, enthralled,
Brought closer, eye talking to eye,
Fell on your bosom and kissed you.

Your breath was heavy,
As we breathed vigorously,
And our hands doing the works,
That no other could do;
Jaded and out of breath,
We fell on the grass,
I thinking of only,
Your eyes.

Morning Cold

Just like a soldier,
Ready with a gun,
So is the cold,
Ready for me.


When I awake,
And, blankets I strew,
It pounces and says,"Ahoy there."
It seeps through my bones.

I shudder, cringe and cower,
With teeth chattering like a mower,
Goose pimples are the evidence,
Of this monster: Morning cold!

A Sentimental Village Dam

A narrow path leads to this beautiful expanse. Nature's blended beauty. At the end of the path is a big, green clearing.

At the far end, lies a small expanse of muddy-brown water – where grazing cattle saunter to quench their thirst. They slosh, splash, and even venture to graze on the grass floating lazily on the water.

Just where the path joins this expanse, sit them – the boys. Boys, who undoubtedly have thrown all caution to the winds, sit there chitchatting and spinning yarns. Some of them lie with their bellies on the green carpet as they enjoy everything that is going on.

A joke is taken up, tossed about until the air hangs down heavily with laughter. Their raucous, guttural laughs reverberate throughout the field.

The colour of their clothes blends with that of the water: brown and dirty. One of the boys sports a dirty-brown headband whose original colour was white. In between their chitchat, they throw casual glances at the cattle they brought to graze, and then, retiredly, plunge back into their rigmarole.

To the extreme left of the field, are women waiting for their clothes to dry. These clothes billow in the cool breeze that caresses the surface of the green beauty from time to time. The ocean-blue sky is sprinkled with sparse white sailing boats that move with the breeze.

On the opposite side of the green expanse, is a line of trees that get nourishment from this muddy-brown water. These trees bow to let the breeze pass as it carries the secret of the green expanse far and wide.

The sun sends out its rays, soft rays, to touch and caress the beautiful green grass. When you sit on this velvet-soft grass, your mind floods with memories. Memories which are more than stories. Fond memories of how you spent your time, with a lass, kissing her sensuous lips, in the yellow moonlight beside this expanse of water which is a dam to more than many. Memories of when you once would sit on the grass, a pen in hand, and pen many a poem drawing courage and inspiration from this scenic 'conglomeration'.

Love In Disguise?

Abstruse, obscure, recondite, name it:
'T rankles in my mind and soul;
Now I feel a fool,
And, to contend with it, I have.

In the absence of the lass,
I feel nothing but gas,
Lighting up my inner man,
And soar high up, I do.

In the presence of the lass,
I feel nothing, totally nothing,
Only curt responses and nods,
'Stain' our communion.

In the absence of the lass,
Her picture: radiant, alive,
Floats before my mind's eye,
Sate, I smile warmly.

In the presence of the lass,
Pictures of this and whatever,
Float before my mind's eye,
Discreetly, politely, I look away.

In the absence of the lass,
I tell myself "I'll surely tell her,
That tremors she causes in me."
I'll surely say: "I love you."

In the presence of the lass,
Nothing is given away,
No emotion, no feeling,
Only a cold, unresponsive duo.

Surely, this is eating at me,
Eating, tearing at my every fibre,
Someone please do tell me,
Can this be termed 'Love in disguise?'