They run around in tattered shorts,
They seem like people who have run short,
This is survival, not a sport
Their hearts live in a darkened fort.

They run this part of the town,
To them, a new day is a new go-down,
Yes  something always has to go down.

They run, hard-pressed with sacks,
Time is money, pile it in stacks,
You Galatians  who bewitched you?
You do it for the stomach, anything to chew.

They don’t spend money on rent,
On the cold pavement, they pitch their tent,
Ooh Galatians…

What’s your fate, Galatians?
Is it tied somehow to this state?
We’re balancing economies of scale,
Do you understand, or are you under a spell?
You can’t feed till your belly swells
Poor Galatian.

I’m writing to Galatians lost in despair,
Drifting through life like they don’t care,
Dreams postponed, hope stripped bare,
Silent cries swallowed in the air.

I’m writing to Galatians, the weary and worn,
Bruised by the battles of nights and dawn,
Resting on benches where dreams are torn,
Waiting for light in a world long gone.

I’m writing to you Galatians, beasts of burden,
You who set out yourselves to harden,
You who sleep on benches of Uhuru Garden,
Lulled by illusions of Eden,
Loud snores, how will you make it to Sweden?

Poor Galatians, your snores wake the bats,
Even crows are shocked by your farts,
You chew leaves like competing goats,
Intoxicated, your moves  sudden boats,
Who bewitched you, Galatians?

A hundred kilometres from home,
A hundred kilometres from the norm,
A game of survival  victims of con,
Conned of lives, conned of souls,
Conned of freedom to cry foul.

Cursed to stroll, condemned to holes,
Suffering servants with no shoes to their soles
Condemned elements with pitch-black souls…
Ooh Galatians  Lord, have mercy on you.
Son of a woman.

Son of a woman

We were sons of the soil, we were,
We woke before dawn to till and earn,
Our hands cracked but our pride was full,
We built homes, not hashtags,
We were the old adults.

We are sons of a woman, we are,
We wake to alarms, not roosters,
Our hands are soft, our hearts are tired,
We build captions, not compounds,
We are the new adults.

We were the faithful, firm, and few,
We feared vows like thunder’s hue,
We courted through letters, patience, truth
Our love aged like clay pots do,
We were the old adults.

We are the quick, the swiped, the seen,
We love in DMs and end in “seen ”
We cheat emotions, hide in memes,
Our vows vanish with low battery screens,
We are the new adults.

We brewed wisdom in silence,
Shared bread when hunger bit,
We fought wars, not boredom,
We dreamed small, but we dreamed real,
We were the old adults.

We sip our alcohol to forget,
We dance in chaos, debt, and regret,
We run from rugs, towards drugs,
With no one left to give us hugs,
We are the new adults.

We were, we are the circle turns,
Ashes to Wi-Fi, both still burn,
Different tongues, same thirst to learn,
Old scars, new dreams both earn their turn,
Time raised us all we are adults.

Son of a woman

Long ago, before kings wore crowns,
Before towns had ups and downs,
Man answered nature’s call with ease,
He simply walked into the trees.

The bush was free, no rent, no fee,
Your throne? A stump, your guard? A bee,
But woe to you if snakes were near,
Or thorns decided to pinch your rear,

Then came the pit, a hole so proud,
The village gathered, the flies a crowd,
Privacy improved, though smell was bold,
And stories were told as you squatted cold.

Civilization marched, as it always does,
Bricks and wood replaced the grass,
Doors that creaked, roofs of tin,
A revolution for where we’ve been.

At last the flush! a royal sound,
Water whisking waste underground,
Into what they now call a septic,
Life became less hectic,
Porcelain thrones with tissue rolls,
Bathrooms scented like perfume bowls.

Some say progress is roads and cars,
Or reaching planets, chasing stars,
But tell me, friend, what’s sweeter still,
Than flushing waste with just a skill?

For heroes sat with swords and crowns,
Yet all still squatted, trousers down,
Civilization’s truest test,
Is where a man can sit and rest.

So laugh you must, yet truth is clear,
The toilet marks our journey here,
From bush to pit, to flashing pride,
History flows where we reside.

Son of a woman

I hear a labour scream,
Am awake with my eyes still on the screen,
Perhaps a bundle of joy,
It cries, ooh it’s not a boy,
Take it or pass?
Is it a blessing or a curse?

Am told it’s a challenge to give affection,
Raising the girl needs attention,
She’s delicate, susceptible to infection,
Needing more than God’s protection,
Still wondering is she a blessing or a curse?

Teach them hygiene,
Yes teach them how to behave around Eugene,
Why, they’ve become teenage,
Not really of age,
Perhaps its tough being a parent,
But there’s a tougher current.

A tougher current?
Yes, at this age they want to experiment,
Tough economies, will you keep an eye or look for rent?
Look for food or be moved by their mood?
Am a parent I also have to be understood,
Oooh girl child, a blessing or a curse.

They want to look smart,
They want their dress cut,
Their faces painted,
Our images tainted,
They’re are of course short of sight,
Dancing in clubs at night,
It’s a tough job to bring them to light,
Son of a woman do I ask the question?

How do we raise them to be smart?
That everyone wants what’s under their skirt,
That the world sees them as pleasure objects,
Which are later trashed as rejects,
Who will help teach them to be virtuous?
When we parents are not even remotely righteous,
What judgment will God pass?
Is this a blessing or a curse?

So I wipe her tears and hold her tight,
Pray she walks with truth, not just light,
I battle fears I dare not rehearse,
Still I whisper through pain and verse,
She is mine, and though the world is perverse…
I’ll raise her strong, a blessing, not a curse.

Son of a woman

Love is blind, so they say,
That love can bind, one in one place to stay,
That love is a game let’s play!
Is it so, or is it hearsay?
I don’t know, but they say love is blind.

Love is blind, today it bled,
The night was filled with tears and dread,
Accused of filth, and dirt under the bed,
Of sleep, of things she never said,
Still, she went back to her lover,
Seeking warmth… or just more cover,
Or maybe… maybe just another beating.

She says,
He shouts because he cares too much,
His fists? Just firm with love and such,
The black eye? Oh, she hit the door,
While running to love him some more.

He cheats, but that’s just how men cope,
She stays, armed only with blind hope,
She calls it passion, not neglect,
“It’s thug love,” she says, “what did you expect?”

He forgot her birthday, a minor slip!
But bought her fries after the next trip,
He drained her M-PESA, blamed the app,
Yet she defends him , “He’s just trapped!”

He says she’s ugly when he’s mad,
But “he loves me still,” she tells her dad,
Even when he flirted with her friend,
She swears he’s loyal, in the end.

Love is blind, deaf, and losing weight,
It cooks, it cleans, it stays out late,
And when he marries Wife Number Two,
She’ll just say, “He’s confused love needs glue.”

He says,
She blocks his calls, then cries he’s cold,
Says he’s “not deep” when he won’t fold,
She flirts in church, but he must pray,
And be her “man” whatever that means today.

They post cute pics to prove it’s real,
Behind the scenes? A rotten deal
She cries, he cheats, they still link,
True love, they say,
but have you tried losing your brain first?
Son of a woman.

I hear screams in the night,
What’s it? A spirited fight?
I hear legs shuffle in a fearful flight,
Son of a woman I hug my pillow tight.

They shout let’s see if you’ll catch me,
A game? No, they plead don’t hurt me,
Yes, someone will be begging the doc please patch me,
They beg, please dispatch me,
Son of a woman these things disgust me.

Patience seems to have run it’s course,
And words have turned to lethal force,
Perhaps a better preference,
But by morning we’d be talking gender based violence,
Or perhaps a love language in pretence,
Son of a woman.

Like Moses she asks Pharaoh to let her go,
Maybe she should have gone long ago,
Did she miss the signs or did she forego,
So they hustle and tussle as I sleep on the fence,
Not wanting to run to anyone’s defence,
Because I might easily be blamed for offence.

They move with aggressive speed,
They shout they scream, they bleed,
Young couples, with no wedding vows,
Young couples, fighting over what? God knows,
The subject sleeps soundly next door,
The complainant’s blood lies cold on the floor,
It scares me from where am sitting,
The adverse effects of cheating.

However I take offence,
That two love bird live in pretence,
That they decide to fight not in the day,
That their drama takes my sleep away,
That the peace of the night has been corrupted,
And my dreams violently disrupted,
Son of a woman I feel offended.

Son of a woman

I have a dream,
To make mama’s tired face beam,
To ease her journeys to the stream,
Where she fetches water every day,
To buy her sugar, not a quarter but a whole kilo one day,
But first, I must cast out this demon,
Adoyo, please… stop sending me those pictures.

Adoyo is fine and thick,
Her body like glue, she’ll make you stick,
Her smile? Contagious, a crafted net,
Her touch? Expensive it makes pockets forget,
Son of a woman, am I under a curse,
Or is this an exam I’m never meant to pass?
So I’ll beg you once more, in the name of our ancestors,
Please… don’t send those pics.

I’m building my mother a house,
And for heaven’s sake,I have a spouse,
Imagine she’s wearing a borrowed blouse,
Yet here I am tempted in another’s house,
My vows still float in unpaid dowry,
Man this road a walking is scary,
So please spare my eyes,
And spare me the lies,
Don’t send me those pictures.

Yes, I accept I have a weakness,
But your leg is leading me into wickedness,
I try to fix my eyes on the Most High,
But you distract me with more thigh,
My body is willing, but my spirit is weak,
You there, busy killing, my mind this meek,
In the name of the Lord,
Don’t send those pics.

Mama walks in torn old shoes,
Carrying dreams and daily blues,
Her back has known both drought and dust,
So I hustle, I pray, I earn, I must,
Let me not lose all this grace,
For a digital glance at a pretty face.

Silent thieves, shy but bold,
Patient, sharp, and their game is cold.
They aim not just at the man,
But the seed, the plan and the clan,
Men, maybe we are under a curse,
Our sweat vanishing into a strange purse.
We were to raise one family in peace,
Now we’re feeding a second with guilt on lease,
Please… don’t send those pictures.

So I lift my eyes to the skies above,
Asking for strength and a shield of love,
Let my mother’s roof rise before my fall,
Let my destiny not miss its call,
Adoyo, my sister, please delete those tricks…
And don’t send those pics.

Son of a woman

We were the three musketeers,
Bound by no fears,
The night belonged to us,
Showing some leg and enjoying the midnight mass,
Bound by no cares
Fueled by youthful flares
But still how did we get here?

That I can’t find my way home,
That I can’t visit home as it is my norm,
Son of a woman, that I missed the moon,
And the tide isn’t coming anytime soon,
How do I explain my ballooning belly,
Son of a woman how do I explain,
That’s it was just a glass of champagne,
How do I explain how we got here?

Eish! I thought the most painful thing was grappling with hair loss,
Life forced me into mourning by force,
Life is the hardest chapter to close,
I mean this is the hardest stanza,
How do I describe this monstrous cancer,
A mother’s love lowered six feet by ropes,
Shattered dreams, bruised hopes,
God in heaven, how did we get here?

Am standing here wondering what lurks beyond the walls,
Was the promise all false,
How did I turn out to be a farmer?
Lord loses hit hard like a hammer,
I can’t explain I can only stammer,
I’ve got to live,
Son of a woman I can’t leave,
Seriously how did I get here?

This was supposed to be a secret affair,
We were supposed to be a fun pair,
This was supposed to be a fun fair,
Tell me how we moved from buying sanitary pads,
To calling ourselves dad’s?
Wait, who even let the cats out of the bags,
Wasn’t this supposed to be kept under the rugs,
How do I tell mama? How do I break the news?
Tell me how to even tell myself, without breaking a fuse?
Tell me how we got here, what’s the perfect excuse?

To the three musketeers,
To more life we cheers,
Let’s embrace our sorrows,
As we brace ourselves for brighter tomorrows,
Let’s keep the hope and keep achieving,
Because life indeed is for the living.
Son of a woman .

In the dark of night,
Pain stalks like a ninja out of sight,
Maybe it’s not what it seems,
But I hear screams,
Where is the motorbike?
Take me me home we’ve come to the end of this hike,
Time to receive my blue jet,

My blue jet has arrived,
The journey the journey we strived,
After a nine month long flight,
Enjoying the sights, the lows and the heights,
Moody days and sleepless nights
My jet finally hits the runway,
My blue jet is here to stay,
Son of a woman my blue jet has arrived.

What is that I hear,
Is it my joy or my fear,
I hear screams of labour,
Son of a woman that’s the work of my labour,
The screams rend the night,
Go on baby girl don’t give up the fight,
The end is almost in sight.

I hear screams,
Son of a woman those are screams of life,
Congratulations my wife,
Now the journey is not any further,
Son of a woman am now a father,
Let’s marvel at my sprouted seed,
Interestingly another mouth to feed
But that aside, my blue jet has arrived.

He comes with hands folded into a knuckle,
Screaming in hunger for the suckle,
Greedily he grabs the tit in a swift tackle,
It pains to suckle, this will be a battle,
My blue jet has arrived.

In the dark of night,
Pain stalks like a ninja out of sight,
Maybe it’s not what it seems,
But I hear screams,
Where is the motorbike?
Take me me home we’ve come to the end of this hike,
Time to receive my blue jet,

My blue jet has arrived,
The journey the journey we strived,
After a nine month long flight,
Enjoying the sights, the lows and the heights,
Moody days and sleepless nights
My jet finally hits the runway,
My blue jet is here to stay,
Son of a woman my blue jet has arrived.

What is that I hear,
Is it my joy or my fear,
I hear screams of labour,
Son of a woman that’s the work of my labour,
The screams rend the night,
Go on baby girl don’t give up the fight,
The end is almost in sight.

I hear screams,
Son of a woman those are screams of life,
Congratulations my wife,
Now the journey is not any further,
Son of a woman am now a father,
Let’s marvel at my sprouted seed,
Interestingly another mouth to feed
But that aside, my blue jet has arrived.

Now he lies in mama’s arms,
A quiet storm, a bundle of charms,
With fists like thunder, breathing firelight,
Eyes closed, dreaming of his first flight,
Son of a woman, this life’s begun,
In his cry, I find the rising sun,
No medals, no wealth, no fame to beget,
Just a legacy built with no regret,
Because in this life where men strive and sweat,
Today I arrived, with my blue jet.

Son of a woman.