Posted in Gratitude


Matolo Kyalo Jr., Kenya.

Yesterday was hard

But life goes on

I lost two loves in one year

As a kid behind Iveti Hills,

I always had the illusion

That you’ll be here forever

Narrating tales from way back

Death took away my solace

Now I have angry monsters to face

These woods are too creepy without your comfort

I hope to see the sun in the silent clearing

Fare thee well dear grandmas.
Yesterday was hard

But life goes on

Red pain

I got pain in my heart

I try to suppress it with my art

The feeling was a dying flame

It seemed to last but it was dust to dust

Worse to worst and turning away was a must

Dead is the past

I walk past in haste and don’t touch the rust

I let it fade into a grey Michaelangelo art.
Yesterday was hard 

But life goes on

I choose to live in the moment

I choose to smile at my torment

I will say thanks and actually feel the gratitude

I will pray in sincerity

I will feel the sand under my feet

The taste in my coffee

The smell in the fried Una fish

I will cherish a beautiful face

I will let her know how I feel

I will relish this moment.

Posted in Second Anthology: Anger Management

Mikyla Kasavi

Days pass us by

As we sing the same old song til sunset

We go beyond our threshold

Trying to achieve our ambitions

A few ways down the road

Our resilience starts to fade away

Our limbs begin to give in

And the passion becomes monotony

It’s all in vain without hope.



You gave us a purpose

A reason to wake up and face the wind

A reason to step up and face the grind

You gave us a new perceptive of life

Different ambitions

Different challenges

Different friend circles

Different way of ending our day

Coming home to a hopeful face

A heart full of innocence, joy and love.


Today I say a prayer

May you be the best of your type

May you become the type of girl that slays

May your story be typed in the oldest history books

May you not become a typical woman

I pray that you will always be of substance

A girl that paints hope in every sphere of life

A princess for eternity

Keeping all the values that I teach you

Keeping all negative vibes at bay

And always keeping your game flawless.


I thank God for you

Always and forever.


(For Mikyla Kasavi. Daughter of Evelynn Muthoni. Friend and inspiration.)


By Matolo Kyalo Jr.

Second Anthology: Anger Management

August, 2017.

New Picture
Mikyla Kasavi


Posted in Weekly Thread


By Our Daily Poetry Family.

What if this is a sign

That we are more than a religious affiliation

What if she is the one 

That I’m meant to be with til the sun goes down

What if we are two stars

Twinkling in an ocean of dull moons

What if it’s just us

What if we are loose balloons,

Just met on same course,

Thinking we tied to destiny,

What if he is a spice,

Just to flavour my life on his way out,

What if am wrong?
What if it was never meant to be,

What if it’s just a trial..

What will happen after we’ve parted ways,

How will it feel to be far away from you,your heart and mind
what if  I’m not 

wrong but insane 

caged into reality,

would life be better than it is,

if insecure is a feeling,

then security is an emotion.

what if….
What if he is the reason I stay late at night smilling to myself? 

Looking at my screen saver wishing it could talk, 

What if he is the one my heart beats for? 

Religion is just religious it was there way back

Why should it devide us into two? 

Why should there be boundaries between two innocent hearts in love?
What if we did not share blood

What if it was allowed

For us to be

For us to create a we

Just you and I

What if
What if sobriety is just an illusion

To veer us off from the untapped potentials of our minds

What if a blunt gives us the freedom 

To really be what we really are

What if this feeling drives off any confusion?

What if…

What if we met and kissed in the rain?

What if we were in deep love that we walked on fire and felt no pain?

What if Romeo resurrected and fell in love all over again?

What if love died,would you learn how to love like Wayne?
What if death was just a charade,

A mere story,

A boogeyman’s tale told to humans,

To ward off their immortality,

To drain away their sobriety,

Wait, what if I’m bored in life, 

Would it about me?
What if this is the fate spoken of

What if we complete each other purposefully

What if there’s more to sparkles of our romance

Why not give me the chance to explore the what if’s
What if

Am dying for love

Will you give me the cure 

Or will you make love seems wicked.

And if I am gone,

Let their be no sadness in thy heart.
What if I sing to your heart,

Then let my fingers string the chords of your being

What if I revive the feeling

Will we take one more drive on the road of ecstasy?
Why if I love the blindness covering my eyes?

It keeps you behind my head on top of my eyes

be my leader be my walking stick

why if I am also dying inside only because tradition says we cannot be together?

Why if I want you more than you do?
If you were born a question you would die that way because no one can equal you. If you agree with me let’s agree to no more ifs

*What If*

So you are the poet…

A sought after artist,

A musician with the voice to die for,

One after Picasso’s own heart,

A lyricist that gives words to all tunes…

So you are all of these and maybe more,

Well,that’s great of you!
So this fine bright morning,

With a happy soul you rise up,

With a cheerful heart you awake,

A warm smile spreading on your lips,

And with your head already in the game,

You are ready to face the day,

To conquer and rule,

To set the pace all will scramble to follow,

You then set the ball rolling.
But all that you planned,

All that you had set up,

Just like a house of cards,

Like perfectly arranged dominoes,

Comes tumbling…

Crashing down,

Right before your eyes!
What if you lose your charisma,

Your outlook for the world changes,

Your response to the world offsets you,

And in the charade of it all,

You realize you just lost it…

Lost all that made you sane,

Lost all that kept you grounded…


What if you lost yourself?
Your words keep you sane,

Your voice adds beauty to you,

Your paint and canvas tell of your life,

The dance steps talk of your feelings,

All these art show of your humanity,

Show of your emotion,

But with a snap of a finger,

With a shake of a lamb’s tail,

You just lost it…

Lost it all.
What if one day you lost yourself,

In this big wide sea you are set afloat,

Sinking and floating with the high and low tides,

Being carried in the ever turning tornado,

And in the midst of it all,

Its the peace found in the eye that you seek,

And despite it all…

Its the peace in the storm that you yearn.

What if you lost all that makes you sane,

In this world full of ravaging storms,

Will you fight to remain sane,

Will you fight to find your words,

Your voice…

Your dance steps…

Your canvas…

Your unsung lyrics…

Or will you fade away,

Absorbed and swallowed with the world,

To be forgotten and be written off,

Completely erased from the books of history,

That are presently being written in your memory!
What if you lost you,

Will you remain lost?

ODP Night Musings

A Poetry Thread

Posted in Second Anthology: Anger Management

This Can Go Either Way

​Matolo Kyalo Jr, Kilifi County, Kenya.

She speaks with an accent

Borrowed from the Digo and Islamic communities

Her dress code speaks of her roots

The Swahili culture

She drags her speech

And paints a picture with her words

She rarely smiles

But when she does,

It’s sunrise in Mji Wa Kale.
This can go either way ..

I might be sucked into her world

Body art, henna, hijabs, Kurán and Islamic glamour

Bitter coffee with age mates

Ramadhan and sweet doughnuts

Priceless housewife benefits

Allahu Akbar.
This can go either way ..

She might be drawn into my queer lifestyle

Living with an alter ego

Giving poetry the first place

Listening to the soft splash as seawater gracefully rolls to the shore

Cherishing every moment lived

Keeping my anger in check

As we abide by the morals

Avoiding the nasty corals

Less sorrows.

Matolo Kyalo Jr
Anger Management
©July, 2017.

Posted in Weekly Thread

Way Back When

By: Our Daily Poetry Family.

Suckling on your mom’s nipples

Tooth barely grown

Back when music was music

We would dance with our hearts

Nowadays men just grind on butts

Leisure was time for bonding 

Nowadays the selfish generation has taken root 

Music was for all you see young men with earphones all over.
Ladies were shy

And men were brave

Long dresses represented the long relationships

The moonlight was enough for the night

When virginity was dignity 

Nowadays they say it’s lack of opportunity

When love was true love

Not measured by the pocket.
A telescopic shaft was twisted and extended

Four etched dials were clicked

And a hand taps down on a mesh

Numbers were recited

Digits placed a wire through a cradle

The holder was turned to forty five degrees

Elastic was pulled from black rubber

Dirtied crumpled pages were strummed by a thumb

A velvet tassel was plucked and thfathersck

Chords oscillate

A poem was written…..way back when.
When relationships were treasured 

Unions were respected

When sex wasn’t the backbone of dating

When men cared for women

And women knew how to cook local foods

When ladies used to cook like their mothers 

Nowadays they drink like their fathers.

When black was ordainefully beautiful.
When we still had a dream. 

Color of my skin was a continental symbolism

Not a tint to be tainted out. To be massacred.

Our women were proud of their skin.

Bleaching was considered an abomination

A plagiarism of beauty.
When ODP used to dance

The tune of weekly thread 

Leaving out no issues 

As Killing of albinos

The Monster amidst us ( Cancer)

The world heard our voices 

Right from our inner part of our Brains !
When gentlemen used to compete within themselves to impress a lady 

They compete with their fathers
When handkerchiefs where being used for blowing the nose 

They are nowadays worn as clothes 
Take me to those days

Where children memorized radio adverts instead of curses

Listened to stories and folk tales not to songs full of nothing coated in a danceable beat

Where children watched cartoons and practice English

Not watching pornography and practice it.

When they played out in the field 

Not indoors on their phones.
When families used to pray together instead of praying each in their own rooms

When dinner used to b the time to share daily experiences instead of spending the whole dinner whatsapping.When breakfast was ngwashe not bread na sausage.
ODP poetry thread

Saturday night t’ings


Posted in Second Anthology: Anger Management

​A Colourful Past

Matolo Kyalo Jr., Kilifi County, Kenya.
I stare blankly

Rainwater trickles down the stained glass

My taxi is speeding down Teenage Avenue

The images are blurry and surreal

The voices from outside are barely audible

The sounds in my mind are screams and echoes

They cause me unspeakable agony

I stay calm in my seat

Watching as day turns into night 

I see faces burning under the moon’s amber

I see blood on the dirty street

Ambitions scatter all over the pavement

There’s no sanity anymore

It’s just a stone cold avenue painted with rage

Angry people walking aimlessly

Looking for answers from angrier ancestors

It’s a pissed community

Palms start sweating

The images are now fading

Darkness engulfs everything.
Taxi stops at crossroads.
Wind of change awakens my conscience

I look back down the empty avenue

I see a sweet struggle

So much pain

Yet, such a beautiful smile

Souls fighting a winning battle

I see red in blood and rage

For the vigilance and resilience

I see green in torn fences

For patience and strong will

I see yellow in fierce flames

For Hope, faith and a southern rising sun
I see a colourful past.

By: Matolo Kyalo Jr.
Anger Management
©July, 2017.

Posted in Rich Kids

Rich Kids of Kenyatta Road


Rich Kids Reach Out

Story by Kelvin Mutune; Machakos, Kenya.

First things first, give Caesar what’s due.
Comment: Is what you write out of experience or just sheer imagination? And whose this Narnia? I’d not mind meeting her.
Reply from author: I write purely out of imagination although in this “Rich Kids of K-Road” I’ve outdid myself in trying to bring out events I’ve seen to fit in harmoniously with my imagination, of course, there’s a generous amount of exaggeration.

 About Narnia, she’s still Narnia business (None ya’ business). She likes remaining anonymous.
My pen seems to bleed a lot nowadays. I’m not complaining though. Rich kids of my hood, I proudly present to you the 3rd article of this series. 

Read and enjoy.
Never let the outrageous attitude of these rich kids lead you to think that they are cold-hearted brimbos loitering on the hallways of hell. No, they are not heartless as many of you think. They are actually more warm than their plastic foreign accents reveal. When it’s time to give, they give cheerfully and without thinking twice. A light skin mama from the heart of Eastlando will silently query herself before giving, ” Nikitoa hii chwani, mathe atanipea credo kweli na venye yeye ni mstingy? Ama nitakua naitisha from mbaibe wangu?!” But not these rich kids. They just dip their well manicured hands into their Louis Vuitton purses and just pick whatever bill comes first. If it’s the one thousand bill, then let it be. 
A friend of the church youth group was getting married and these peeps really showed up to prepare for the weekend event. They threw their accents (or at least some of it) for some time and sang their voices out. Others, unlike me, who had not been born with two left feet decided to show us how to really get down. Then others decided romance was their calling and mimed their way into the hearts of many. These rich kids really *gave* their time in this. Judging from the busy clique schedule that some of them have, and the number of selfies they take per hour, this was really impressive.
Saturday came and flew by, apart from for those who went to the famed after party (they are probably still asleep now, nursing nasty hangovers). For those who decided that their houses formed better roofs than the flashing neon lit environment of the after party, like me, our Saturday really flew by fast

Sunday morning, woke up late. Ok, really really late. Decided to go to church anyways. After all, what’s the whole essence of “better late than never”? As I briskly walked into the dimly lit room, I could feel twenty or so pairs of eyes fixedly staring at me. They even made me doubt my wardrobe choice. Like, ” Kwani hii jeans ni chafu? Ama labda Niko na toothpaste kwa mashavu?…”. I fixed myself in between some friends of mine and immediately got lost in a conversation I’d love to christen “About last night”. I won’t divulge the details of that conversation, its details are classified and the last thing I want is to be skinned alive by the victims. 
The room was full of murmur like usual. You simply can’t stop a rich guy from expressing his feelings to a fellow rich girl, and the youth meeting apparently seems to them like the perfect venue for that. It was only after Ciru bellowed “SHUT UP AND HAVE RESPECT” that some sanity sifted into the room. Rich Kids were called upon to give towards a friend who had just got discharged from the hospital. And I tell you, I was really taken aback at how willing these guys are at helping a friend. In a matter of minutes, we were enroute towards the ailing friend’s home. It was really beautiful watching young men and women coming together for such a cause. For once, no selfies were taken except for Yobra and his pineapple juice in a basin. But what really stood out was the fact that we went out of our way to visit a friend willingly. That simple gesture maybe meant a lot to Davis. The rich kids had come together to give, not only their time and money, but also love. And what is life without love? 
In the midst of the chit chatter it was agreed that there will be a camp later this year and that no one will carry their phone to the camp. Selfie loving, light skin girls have you heard and digested that? No phones for a whole week! No instagram, no Snapchat and no pizzas and iMax will be watching the flora and fauna. I really don’t have an idea how you going to get Coldstone in the wilderness, unless you literally get a cold stone. Beautiful, right?
Before I pen off today, I’d love to do a little bit of reality check. 


Life is fragile and very special. Maybe most of us take it for granted that we are breathing and very well. For those of us who visited Davis, it was really a humbling experience for us to see how far God has brought him and how He has healed him so far. We realized that no one knows about tomorrow and we should always thank God that we are breathing and very well. On that same note, I would humbly ask you to include Davis and his family in your daily prayers. Pray for his quick and full recovery and pray that his family will hold on in this hard time. 
To God be the glory.
ODP Forever.