Posted in : ODP Threads

On Hope And Everything In Between

Hope isn’t visible when happy
But it’s the light that shines when the world seems to go dark
Hope is usually silent
But roars like a volcano
Erupts and burns everything trying to put you down.

Hope is the risen waters…
Following the tides up and down,
Gathering as a whirlwind,
Blowing everything up like a tsunami
It’s the power that lies within the calm in the storm.

hope a word close to home
yet so far away from home
yet so sweet during gloam
so mortal to make me seem like a person
but still manages to make me roam

Hope is that thread that has me choose to close my eyes or open them,
Feel my feet as I walk through shadows of threats, or brace my soul and raise my head up high,
Hope is that reason I count on every time I feel let down,
That light that never leaves my side no matter what.

Hope is that yearned breeze,
After a sunny afternoon under the Acacia,
The sip of water on dying lips
Hope is all that keeps me alive,
Hope is that which is in me.

Hope is that mental alarm,
That wakes me every morning,
To go and search for a better tomorrow

Hope is the feeling of assurance,
That after the dark cloud of fate passes,
A ray of life shall illuminate the world

Hope comes when times are dire
It brings out the courage in you
For hope is the only thing stronger than fear
Until it gets to you.
Hope is an illusion to all in blue.



Posted in : ODP Threads


Take me back to the day we met,
So that I can turn back…
And walk away.

The day where I had thoughts of approaching you and ignoring you,
I would have followed my head than the heart

Take me back to when
we first talked, so that
i can swallow my words
and walk away

Take me back to when my heart lied,
That the price to a heart are words enforced with actions…
A price I paid with a deep, deep scar.

Take me back to the nights we watched the stars together,
Held each other tight and promised forever
Only to wake up and you were gone

Take me back to that tree we sat under
For it the flowers that made the blunder
I wish I didn’t pick up

Take me back
To the day that I was so shy
So shy that I couldnt look at your face
Little did I know the shyness was going to face also.

Take me back to that little sweet haven
Where you would bath me with kisses,
Where you would trace all my crevices and fill them with ecstasy.

Take me back to the time when all I could think of was you
When you were my day dreams and my fantasies
When I believed that with you by my side I could conquer anything
Now all I wish is to erase all the memories of you from my mind
Cause all this heartbreak is too much for me to bear

Take me back to the moments we raised happy toasts
So that I can sit gloomy around you
So that I can slap you when you come close to me eyes closed
So I can say a little less
Just a little bitter
And a selfish me




Posted in Rantings Of A Young Man

R.O.A.Y.M.: Timeless Waves

About five o’clock in the evening. An hour that I love. As such I reserve it for things I love, like cycling for instance. It’s a neutral hour. Not so late to warrant senseless drinking or so early to cause moral awareness in lovers making out on the side of the road. As such, tired people sit on hotel chairs and stare mindlessly at the setting sun as it sinks another day approaching death. Another ended day without achieving their goals at the workplace. It’s too early for men to go to their nagging wives so they sit and watch a football match between teams no one has heard of in let’s say the Russian League. But who cares? Others more accepting of the ideology of modern manhood, pick up their kids at school and are playing games with them. I even pass some of them teaching their young ones to cycle. Once in a while, my eyes are blessed to see lovers hold hands and look at each other saying absolutely nothing but understanding one another in a universal language only known to them. It’s a beautiful sight before monetary problems eventually spoil the beauty of their smiles and darken their hearts and what once was love becomes hate. Anyway, I cycle at five because it is the hour I found love. Also because other cyclists come in for the random high five and a lonely man like myself finds a chance to interact with humanity. Irony. I found love yet I consider myself lonely. Well, this is how I found love. I was a lonely man who took long cycles because no one was waiting for me at home and went home early because there was no one to cheat on. So this particular day I was cycling along the road freeing my mind of all care and worry for a minute on that long and straight tarmacked route when I observed a strange phenomenon, traffic congestion. In an estate, traffic jam is an unheard of thing. So of course I had to look. There had been an accident between a black BMW SUV probably an x3 and a black lorry. The SUV was smashed really bad at the front and the driver had definitely not survived. It was a gruesome sight. Pieces of shattered glass spread on the road glimmering in the evening golden light with a reddish hue due to the blood from the driver. The mechanics present had tools that suggested the wreck had to be pried open to reveal the body or what seemed like it to be hauled into an ambulance. As the SUV was being pulled onto a trailer, a moving object on the side of the car caught my attention. At first I thought it was the side mirror. But it was far too long to be a side mirror. Looking more carefully, I found it was exactly feared it would be. An arm. The arm of the driver had been severed from the body in the crash and now dangled on the side of the car like a flag. Once the car was on the trailer, it stopped moving but I had also stopped cycling to look at it. Then it moved as if moved by wind. I looked at the trees around me. The leaves weren’t swaying even a little. So no wind. But it had moved. As I began to panic, I noticed it’s movement. It was waving at me. I don’t know what you would do if the arm of a dead man waves at you. My mind knew I was supposed to freak out but instead I waved back. I was emotional to realise that someone cared enough for me to check on me after his death. At that place I shed a few tears for the human whose spirit loved me. But what is the use of being loved by someone on the other side. But there I stood glad that perhaps on that side someone was waiting for me. That cold thought warmed my body. Tis the irony of it but love is love.

Posted in Poetry From Africa & Beyond


Stories have been told
Of a strange man living in the woods
He emerges at dusk
Wearing a green cape and a mask.

He hunts young maids’ blood
The ones running away from their masters
He gives them solace
Digs into their hearts’ crevices
Feeds his soul with their compassion
Devours their minds and consumes all their dreams.

The man rewards them with heartbreak
Not to cheat on their masters
A lesson to last them a lifetime
He can’t keep their little illusions
For he doesn’t have a bag for stolen hearts
Maybe the crack of one dawn
Will bring him a heart of his own.

Matolo Kyalo Jr.

Second Anthology: KISS MY SCARS

© March, 2020.

Posted in Rantings Of A Young Man

R.O.A.Y.M: My Enemy

I steadily shift the gears from parking to reverse and start to move from the parking lot. The guy in my co driver seat helps me by looking for other cars from his side to avoid a collision. The car is dark and I can’t see him properly but he has a short dark beard and wears a necklace with a tusk pendant. Just like mine. I like him immediately. The only light emanates from the screen showing the view from the reverse camera and the way is clear. I slowly back up and turn on some music to cheer me up and drown the superficial conversation that I’d possibly have with this stranger. I am a taxi driver with one of these companies that have their apps and people just order a ride and rate it afterwards. This is the first person today who wanted to ride shotgun. So I shift gears to drive and start off to where the gps said. Some average cafe across town. From his dressing, he doesn’t have a date and it bothers him not. Very simple and comfortable. I envy him. Unexpectedly, as I accelerate from the parking lot, he grabs the gear lever and takes the car back to reverse. The car goes back so fast I barely have time to press the brakes before we hit a wall. Luckily, it’s not a car. “I’m so sorry, please drive on. I am so so sorry. I won’t do it again. I didn’t even know what I was doing, I’m really going through a lot…. ” and that’s where I zone off because I am not a psychiatrist and I already have enough on my plate. Luckily, the company provides that in situations where the passenger endangers the life of the driver, the driver is compensated. Yeah, some extra coins. So of course I go back to my task a little more cautious about his hands. We leave the parking lot and join the road. We drive on without an incident then at the edge of a corner, where I could only check forward, he does it again. This time I ram into a motorbike, throw it aside and smash right into an oncoming car. At that moment I want to die so bad, a bullet to the head sounds like an easy way out. I look at my customer now illuminated by the red lights of an approaching ambulance wailing loudly. Consciousness is slowly beginning to evade me and right before I black out, I realize the queerest of things about my suicidal customer. He does not just look like me, he is me.

Ephraim Karanja 2020

Posted in Poetry From Africa & Beyond

Ticking Past

Grayed hair and wrinkled skin,
Feeble knees that crackle on my weight,
A testimony of time long passed,
That every second is a blessing,
That can also be lived as a curse,
As a bright day or a dark night.

Glued to torments of old age,
Grateful for all the rights lived,
Back bent and weighed down,
By all the wrongs I should have,
Done right given a second chance,
With every ticking second,
I gasp for a gulp of breath,
Clinging to the memories,
Of the past bright as fairies,
When I was young and mighty,
And took everything lightly,

NJUGUNA SAMIZZO    Kisumu, Kenya

Posted in Poetry From Africa & Beyond


my fathers says
he taught his daughter to find men who respect her
my fathers says that when he gives his daughter too much love
hes scared she wont need a man’s love
my fathers says
that a man who loves you
shows his love through his action
rather than his words
my father says that man who loves you gets scared to loose you
he says that a man whose truly loves you
loves you when you’re dumb
loves you when you’re smart,
loves you anyway,
Right from the start.

my fathers says
that a man born and raised from a legit mothers
knows the worth of a woman close to him
know how to take care and please her
know how to handle her strength and weakness

buskuti the poet
poetry being her

Posted in Poetry From Africa & Beyond


dear one,
when you feel broken
dont fear the spoken
for i your angel will give you affection
that will awaken ,
the brightness of your heart.

dear one when you feel shattered
just know you are desired,
by i your angel
for i will pamper you with love
so that you know the value of love

buskuti the poet
poetry being me