Twisted

Twisted in a story that no one told,

Going to places that no one named,

Worshipping white saints and a pot of gold,

In a journey that yields while many beg.

The roof is an anchor to a stomach bled,

The crown becomes heavy in another man's bed,

To grieve in absentia is a cure instead,

Live for tomorrow and beg for bread.

A lot still happens in a world constrained,

Lack of movement breeds another mistake,

The walls will regret it when the time betrays,

All the more reason to begin again.

Three little fingers and a pointed face,

Why must it matter when no one says,

Truth gets frustrated in a broken shed,

Just keep on milking, the cow is fed.

* * *

8 February 2020,

Diani, Mombasa

Seven minutes

Twice in seven minutes he went to war,

Pulling out of prison is not a joke.

It's easy to get help when you don't withdraw,

For a man needs forgiveness from a heart on top.

How could he tell it when the net was low,

Catching a new feeling from moods ignored,

In two pieces of silver on a fist in brawls,

With another man's beard on an empty draw.

He kept flinching noises in hope to slay,

Those little voices that the heart betrays,

War is an ally when you don't withdraw,

For after seven battered minutes, you lose control.

***

July 3, 2020

Nairobi, Lockdown