WHEN A PROFESSION IS FLOODED…

Most students after excelling in the KCSE examinations, they ponder mostly about what course to take on. What career path to indulge in after the four years in University. There comes the issue of particular fields being flooded, a common ideology among people in society which plays a huge role in discouraging a student’s wants. Being flooded means that too many people are taking up such courses or professions thus reducing the sugar in the tea I suppose.

When I decided to take law as a course, I remember inviting disappointed faces and harsh stereotype kind of reactions from many. Stinging criticisms beheld my atmosphere with many arguing that too many people are doing law. It is flooded. I should therefore take up some other course but maybe I won’t mention any for now.

To be honest, yes, many fields not just law are saturated. For instance, medicine as many would say. At this point, I would give my honest opinion to appeal to ad populam sort of directives. In a professional aura, there lives to exist both qualified and unqualified personas. Those who know what they are doing, and the quacks. The fact that so many people are doing something does not mean that all of them are knowledgeable in that sector. Some have not been properly modeled and are frustrated by the legitimate system to really get there. Some have used shrewd means to be among the swimmers in the pond.

What matters when taking up a course is the difference you intend to make and bring to that profession. The uniqueness that you will bring to the table. One is not obligated to do things as they have been done. If it is law, then go all out and reinvent the practice of law, in whatever area of practice dynamically. If it is politics go all out and re-construct the face of political allegories. The same goes for all other professions. Let our dreams and passions not be killed by problematic theories that seek to inconvenience the desires of one’s heart.

 However, it is okay to listen to positive concerns concerning one’s choice in picking a career. Others may have seen something you have not in yourself. Either way, one should know themselves enough to assess their capabilities too. Frequently students take up a course and then leave it halfway claiming it is too hard. It is either they were forced or they just did not take the time to acknowledge their capabilities. At the same time, again one can always step out of their comfort zones. Go beyond, explore and keep it positive. It is always possible. Possibility means putting in the work and being willing to learn. The art of doing, making mistakes but picking oneself up.

All in all, in a place where many walk let few if not all exemplarily thrive. Uniqueness, qualification, and genuine effort should be among the distinguishing factors.

I WILL MAKE MY WORDS…

I will make my words into needle and thread,

Use them to bind,

I will brew my words like tea,

Drink so that you may feel warm and alive,

I will make a closet full of shoes out of my words,

All fitting right in size,

Walk in them,

Whether it’s raining or the weather’s just fine,

With their portions of pain, sadness, triumph and shipwreck,

Like leaves,

They will grow,

Broader and grander each day,

I will sew my words into a furry coat,

Feel free to grab them whenever it’s cold.

WHICH SHOES FIT BEST?

I tried fitting my feet in her shoes but hers were bigger than mine. I tried on his and they fit perfectly wee but he wore them better than I ever did, or could still.No lie about that. I can’t tell which story hurts more even then, mine, his or hers. I guess never will we be able to tell.

DEAR YOU…

You are a map,

With all your boundaries defined,

A bird that chirps in the waking of a new dawn,

A river that breaks its banks across the high end desert,

A bright star shooting in a dark sky,

A forest that groweth from deep within,

You are like the waves of the sea,

You roar with the uttermost rage,

You are a city barricaded with strong high walls,

An army of warriors getting ready for war,

A little David with just but a sling and a stone.

MY SOUL WILL FEAST UPON…

My soul will feast upon your love,

Seeping through the crevices of your heart,

My soul will feast upon the beauty in your eyes,

How delightful it is to look at you like a fool running towards hell’s fire,

My soul will feast upon the yoke of passion,

Hanging loose around the nape of your neck,

My soul will feast upon the vineyards of desire,

Giving rise to a thousand healthy grape fruits,

Cupid drew his bows and to me he shot his arrows,

Love he said,

was what I longed the most,

My soul will feast upon the decency of your kindness,

The kind that makes me want to call you sweetheart,

My soul will feast upon your courage in my cowardice,

That makes me call you lover,

My soul will feast upon the taste of your lips,

That makes the wreckage of me vanish with no absolute anguish.

TO WHOMEVER IT MAY CONCERN…

In my darkest,

Your eyes dazzle me with nothing but love,

At my lowest,

It is your touch that brings me back to life,

At my lowest,

It is your promises that revive my sinking heart,

It is your voice that mends my shipwrecked heart,

Your fragrance remains embedded and wrapped around the nape of my neck,

In my dreams your lips are attached to my bony cheeks,

My mind is flooded with the taste of your kiss,

The touch of your skin sends shockwaves to the palms of my hands all the way to my feet,

Your breath puts to existence the embers of flame right all over me,

Your presence like the crevices of my newly laundered sweatshirt stand out to absolutely everything I perceive,

Your presence like the portraits on my living room wall stands out to impress,

Your love fashions every single scar and every fold of ache locked away in the chambers of my heart,

Your love fashions every single want and desire even in my denials,

Your love catches me like a net,

Your love gushes from the mountains up above all the way down to me like the freshest of the springs that may have existed since the beginning of time,

In the uncultivated spaces of my soul,

Your build your patience high up like a ten-foot wall,

I feel the stroke of your warm hands on my tear-filled face,

I feel the stroke of your warm hands reaching to put words in my mouth,

You let my tears flow down freely as I rest my head on your chest,

Your muscles and mine grow with each second so tense,

You are an exact epitome of what I think magic really is,

Our bond is like an oath,

To be broken?

Maybe not?

Time will go by,

Like a once caged bird I will finally learn to fly,

Come and take from me the keys of every door leading to the darkest pits of the chambers of my aching heart,

Quickly let the the chains of affection dancing up your throat,

Tie me to your never ending love,

Anchor me firm till the end of time.

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JIREH

Photo by Sachin C Nair on Pexels.com

               

In my darkest, your love dazzles me.At my lowest your goodness revives my sinking heart.Your embrace delights me.Your beauty resembles that of scarlet ribbon tied onto a faithful king’s right hand. Your brilliance resembles that of an amethyst suit of jewels. In my sadness the sun in your face shines upon me.It is your smile that releases your power in, above and around my existence. Your promises get attached to me like the bond between an orangutan and her young one. In my weakness, your arms like the Hollandia cedar support me.In my sleep I hear whispers from the corners. Whispers  that hail promises carried by the stars to me.In my dream I see myself in the middle of the sea having lost my way.I see a lighthouse guiding me into the safest of places up on the hill. In my dreams I can feel the stroke of your hands on my weary face. You present your kindness to me like ripened fruit from the palm of your hand. My mind is wet with the taste of your grace. It is your touch that sires the embers of desire inside of me.The desire of wanting to be closer to you.It is your boldness that leads you to walking the deadliest tracks to the darkest pits of my soul. Your patience well preserved like the Temple of the Sun and Moon has withstood the test of time. You are like the Northern wind that picks up a dried fallen leaf .You are like a fresh surviving apple tree with its roots extending deep within the desert soil. Your presence is dominantly evident like the crevices of a newly washed garment. You move about like a hurricane calling to destruction my resisting ten feet walls. The sky burns red with the intensity of your hold on me.Your affection fashions my scars through which you helped me learn .Your song gets me out of bed when the weight of my thoughts paralyses me.I hear the messengers of the sky acknowledging your presence. Across your collarbone I see my name dangling in caps. Your magic creates a golden halo above my head. Your mercifulness allows me receive forgiveness for anything.I see my future tattooed in ink somewhere across your face. I’m reminded I can’t travel back into the past I’ve always hated. You took your lungs out replaced them with mine. I can breath easy now with the fulness of your grace. With a glance from your eyes I see rods of gold walking me through the ashes. Through the valleys of death. I see a flock of your sheep drawing me towards them.I lay my head on your chest and I remember my mother’s own. That is the only place I can find my peace. I don’t have to flee to an underground hole or a cocoon hiding from you. My imagination doesn’t have to be absorbed into questioning your existence one bit. I don’t have to be a rotting corpse from inside. For a while I don’t have to slide back the curtains against the truth in your authority .I don’t  have to be swimming in a pool of what people think of me. You wrote on the pages of my book that you hold my true worth and none else. You are my savior when all is lost and I am losing my wars. When they judge my book by the cover you give me hope and give me a new identity. You hold me above the waters and hold on to me so that I don’t drown. You renew my strength when I have none. You tie your own yoke around my neck and release the load of baggage full of distress which I for years have carried on my back. I look up to you because indeed that is where my help comes from.I look up to you in more ways than one.There is nothing more I would ever ask for you.You are JIREH.

JEREMIAH 29:11

^“ For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

I DREAM OF THE DAY….

It has been ages since I saw mama smile,

Unendless sadness always screaming from her wet eyes,

An untold plea plastered all over her cracked lips,

She says she is fine but I hear her soft sobs like I always do every night,

It’s been a while since she has had some good sleep,

She hasn’t left our tin and wood shack in weeks,

She always is sick,

Fatigued,

Papa has no job,

He leaves for the bar and comes back home drunk,

It’s the frustration,

He wishes he were in a better spot in life,

It’s been months since I’ve had a decent meal,

Most times I’m forced to survive on just one,

If none I have to dig through a pile of trash,

Surrounded by thousands if not millions of flies,

Foraging for meat or morsels of bread,

That or valuable items to sell,

Often I ask myself if people do consider what they throw away,

I go prepared with a sack to carry the collected scrap which doesn’t sell for much,

I wish I could but I can’t go to school,

Never have I read a book before,

Maybe at school I’ll make more friends,

School will teach me how to write my own name atleast,

Maybe one day I will,

I’ve heard about charities,

In school maybe my future will look brighter before my eyes,

I’ve never owned a pair of shoes before,

I trudge through mud barefoot,

Thick layers of dust,

My heels dry and cracked,

My face sullen and dull,

I’m just nine,

I’ve seen others with gaunt,twig-like arms,

Their skin wraps their bones tautly,

Rotund bellies,

Distended,

Limp legs,

I can’t help but think I’m headed there,

I dream of the day when my arms will not be skinny as much,

That when I’m older they will develop a muscular charm,

I have never had pillow before,

I make use of a carton board,

My blanket is so full of holes,

There is no bed,

It’s just the uneven earthen floor,

With a leaking roof,

Frequent attacks by the vicious cold,

I wish I had better clothes,

I thank God for the ones I do,

Though most are torn,

Worn-out,

Do I have a choice?

I dream of the day when words of hopelessness will fail to escape our tongues,

When mama will weep less and her sadness will fade,

I dream of the day when papa will get that decent job ,

I dream of the day when I’ll finally have a pair of shoes,

Polished and tightly laced,

I dream of the day when someone will atleast fix the roof,

For when it heavily rains,

I dream of the day when I will finally go to school,

Yes!

Go to school and read a variety of books,

I dream of the day when I’ll own a pillow and a mattress,

And a blanket too,

I dream of the day when I’ll be able to enjoy 3 meals,

I dream of the day when I’ll get to play in a much safer environment,

I dream of the day when I won’t have to walk around in search of metal and plastic,

When I won’t have to go through garbage just to keep myself alive,

I dream of the day my dreams will finally open doors,

I dream of the day when my life will change for good,

I dream of the day when this winter will pass and I’ll bask in the sun.

BIBLE VERSE.

MYDANCINGPENCIL….

BIBLE VERSE.

INNOCENT BYSTANDER

Protesters against the government burning rubber tyres in the streets .

I am an innocent bystander,

To every happening surrounding,

Destruction,

Distortion,

Poison,

Atrocity,

Profanity,

Evil manifesting,

“Insanity?”,

Deception,deception,deception!

Paradise shifted hell,

when did this all start?

When will it all end?

When will it all be beautiful again?

Has it ever been?

I’d rather the curtains remain closed for the day,

Than gaze upon the endless horrors I see each day,

RIP to all the men,women and children who have perished at the hands of violence,

There is a parade of coffins,

A heap of corpses,

The NEWS headlines an earthquake of bad news?,

Climate change,

Politics,

Political ideologies,

Religious differences,

Gendercides,

Down shifting economies,

The bombardment does not get any better,

Look out for the words bolded,underlined and written in thick ink,

All over the papers on the street,

“In the last 24 hours…”

“BREAKING NEWS”

Words that carry with them tension,apprehension,

Killings,

Fighting,

Global unrest,

Inaction,

Corruption and coups,

Kidnappings and gangs,

“1000 more dead”,

Gunshot wounds to their chests,

Statistics,

Statistics,

Statistics,

People are more of numbers than just normal beings,

It’s official,

Like they say humanity is not complete without indulging in violence,

It never has been,

Sleep with one eye open,

Another to the back of the head,

Who knows when you might be next,

You might need to run?

Victim?

Communities are on each others necks,

Fires,

Bombings,

Street attacks,

“A 21 year old hacked to death”

A student who just happen to be at the wrong place,

“Human stampede claims the lives of youths”

“People’s homes and businesses set ablaze”

“WARZONE”

‘Officers and rioters exchange fire”

Demonstrations,

Demonstrations,

Demonstrations,

Teargas and grenades are not even enough to quell the unrest,

Chaos,

Chaos,

Chaos,

But then can peace,equality,security and justice prevail without violence?

Can violence be justified?

Even that which kills?

I sit in my dark little corner,

An innocent bystander to the happenings of the world,

All I can do is watch?

Innocent bystander to the global social unrest.

PRECIOUS SCARS.

KINTSUGI

It’s already midnight,

In most nights like this,

I’m wide awake,

Surrounded by the heat of the dark,

Within the confines of the living room walls,

Watching the moon over the trees,

But my thoughts not very nearby,

Sipping from the glass of my life’s history,

My mind tracing the cracks and chips of my existence,

I am made to recall everything,

I pick up a mental rock thrown at me,

I unearth all the hurt,

Old wounds reopened at that time,

Inside of my chest resurrecting some burns,

From a past I wish I could shed like a second skin if at all I had one,

But I don’t,

So I have to live with it,

But then….

It can all be better,

It can,

I bled but not to death,

I still am alive ,

I overcame,

I still will,

I survived the blows,

I so can narrate the tales,

Broken as I was back then,

I emerged stronger than I had ever known,

With golden marks for scars,

A new confidence finally emerging,

With the sparkling of a sky glass,

My story alive and dancing within like some tall savannah grass,

And that is beauty,

Value from my fractured remains,

Clay that has been again moulded,

That ,I confess with my lips so well,

I am whole again,

All by God’s grace.

We do not have to live with open abrasions forever.The shattered pieces can be put back together.We can become whole again regardless of what made us break in the first place.Be it abuse,rejection,addiction. We can be whole again.Our scars can be transformed into something of value.There will be beauty in the broken places.

Psalms 147:3

BOLD.

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I was born a sailor acquainted with the strongest of seas,

Found myself in a minefield,

Had to watch where I stepped my feet,

When troubles bulldozed their fists,

Onto my fragile ribs,

My body a mass of holes,

Hard for me to rid,

Dared to expose what went on behind the scenes,

Opened up,

Threw caution to the wind,

They attempted to kill my spirit,

Wet sandcastles for kings and queens weren’t so deserving of me or rather I them,

That song they made a part of my playlist,

They said my waters were too shallow,

They needed to be deep for me to dive,

Crushed my hope like a can of soda beneath the heel of a shoe,

Massacred my hopes leaving them among the skeletons of my dreams,

They pushed me aside,

“Inconvenient complexity”

Forgot about me the way they would a bunch of keys,

They said goodbye and opted to leave,

They said I wasn’t good enough for a thing or two or even three,

I might have lost them but my ability to beat the waves came to,

Beat the odds to become something new,

Mailing my garbage to the world as evidence that all lost can be renewed,

Faith and courage I sought hushing the weather,

The hard blowing winds,

Melting the cold ice sheets,

Them who left came back in a bid to form the top snow in my mountain,

wanting to feast

The wounds they inflicted upon me,

The pain,

Echoing through the walls of my heart,

Haven’t mastered the art of erasing stuff,

Repainting,

I’d go for that,

A part of me missing still,

Maybe forgiveness is that one last piece.

5/12/2003.

Photo courtesy of getty images

Everyone tells me that he loved me,

That his love could be seen in the eyes,

That his love was great,

That his love smelled of pure myrrh,

That I was a gift to him from above,

The most precious of them all,

In his garden he had planted so many seeds,

But only I survived,

That one little prayer of his had finally been answered,

He gave me three names,

His surname I call mine with pride,

I count the birthmarks on my bare skin,

Each time they total up to three,

Mother says they look like his,

I connect them the way I would dots,

As if doing so will make the creatures of the soil spit out his flesh,his cartilage,

As if his bones will be brought back to life,

My mind is devoid of memories of him.,

I have none,

They gave me photographs,

Only one of them stood out,

Always had it placed next to my bed,

The colours started fading,

It developed torn ends,

Creases ,wrinkles and folds,

So I placed it in an album,

I wasn’t looking to lose my loved one for a second time,

I once thought it was all a dream,

I would leave the door open,

Just in case he returned home,

He never did,

I imagined he was a soldier,

Fighting a war in a far away land and he would be back in a few years or so I thought,

I named the sun and stars,

Gave them a name like his,

The sun would shine down on me everyday like he always did,

The stars would always keep me company in the lonely nights,

Tried writing him into words so I can feel him by my side sometimes,

It was on a day like this,

Many years back,

17 to be exact,

There were no goodbyes,

I always allowed my self to cry,

Every once in a while,

Everyone says he died but never left,

When I ask why,

They say everything about me resembles him.