Let it take shape.

I've been up for countless nights, been gone for many,
My sanity last I saw , was lost to the wind.
I found out that lovers dream, and dreams make up lovers,
My constitution was my pain and tears, You were my sorrow.
I soon forget what I wish to say, every time You are near.
Dear I meant to say, I love You,
but it's obvious and clear,
That love 's a three legged race, and am on my own.
It's seek and it's twisted how they say it all the same,
I never thought a hundred day could go by so fast.
That's how long every year, I wait for Your love,
seems like am pledging ,my allegiance to the dark.

I seem to Love this pain and this sorrow,
now my that my life seems just borrowed,
and where once a heart seems so hollow.
Am glad, no-one can follow,
this path that I travel, cause I burnt all my bridges past
I have to hope for tomorrow.

I don't wish You to understand why I'll pray for rain,
when My world seems to be in a flood and I cannot swim.
I dont want Your saving, please leave me be,
Sounds insane but its sanity cause I still wish to Live.

*** *** ***

Today...

Today I just think I'll talk, maybe flutter these lips
and say words I meant to say.
Today I just think I'll walk, maybe let my feet take me,
to a place I never thought I'ld go.
Today I just think I'll drop, the tiresome load,
 of my past I do carry.
Today I just think I'll trust, that every thing has a purpose,
and wait till the pain goes as I smile at the rain.
Today I just think I'll laugh, out loud as I remember the pain
and the shame that never stuck.
Today I think I'll busk, in the sun and just soak up some rays
of its imminent light.
Today I think I'll flap, these dusty wings that I never thought would ever fly.

so, today I'll call my first crush, tell Her what's on my mind,
hope at all She won't understand.

If all I do say, then today would be yesterday...





Till the next time my sanity takes a break,
Kwaheri.

...

Eyes so wide, a sky once bright.
The fallen crime, these graves dug deep.
Am only human, to love You anyway.
I have seen longer nights, away from You.ere
The stars do seem to shine a bit too dim  tonight,
when I think of Your disguise.

I won't fight You, when You come all dressed in white;
I won't hide You, when You come all drenched in rain;
Cause I'll still love You, when You start to stray.

But the pain that I feel, I can bare no more.
There are tears much so real, I can not explain how it feels,
to love for the sake of Love.

I see images of You, remember Your voice;
and i start to get undone, cause I don't find it right,
You over there and me over here.
...
...

Playing tapes in my head (still one of many)

still reeling.
I rocked the blue sky still, watching as it dimmed away,
Leaving night in Her splendor, darkness mixed with soft lights,
A treat to eyes that were blinded, by the staring into madness.
I followed slowly to the ledge, of crazy town alone.
I had to flee these madness, fools who complied to gladness,
while tears pain loomed in their eyes again.

So I tred this path alone, no companion but mu soul.
I let the tears drop in silence,bread crumbs to my soul.
Dear friend don't mind my tone, the the words I say are filled with pain,
In truth my blindness, in light I vained madness,
And bowed to Queens of stone, no penance did they give me.

To God I lay my soul, in broken pieces like old gold,
that took the form of coal and muck, from the sins i bared on my back.
I pack each lie one by one, every sin i did I took,
and my cross of lead i took, through the sleeping cities,
as people walked sleeping, to hope for peace in war.

This my repentant soul, must learn these sins let go.
For remorse will kill me, Her name I have taken,
while her house I have dwelled in, a sinner full of gold and toil,
a friend to mad-men in their soil...
... ... ...

Playing tapes in my head (one of many)

Biograpia...(Auto)

Your life is a story, told to many.
The choice of when, by whom, where and why are all in Your hands.
I decide to tell my story in my own words,
My own way.

I choose to be the one who tells the truth about me.
My life through my eyes, through a thousand and one mirrors.
I decided to no-longer be a victim of people's near sighted view of who I am.
I hence decided to be ME.

Be the ME I know I Am.
For In My story...

Playing tapes in my head (one of many)

Set in the back.

It was final in a way, the sun had set;
the night did stretch forth her veil of darkness.
The evolution of man's thoughts had brought birth to lightning,
but it was yet, as imperfectly deprived of thunder.
The light that the lamps did bring forth had now been abandoned, yet in my soul I could hear the rain,
as She did her companion converse with.
The randomness of existence had been given meaning long before,
before the day My first breath did flood these mortal lungs.

So I saw it set in the back of my mind, hidden behind the debris of a mediocrity
that surpasses my own sanity.
Above the sanctity of my own existence , the closure that I seek in my own dis-functionality.
The thought of love and so called acts of love, that just stew You in disparity,
I wish to toss this thought to the world just this once.

They called me by names out of a medical journal by V.Frankenstein,
that I was pieced up into nothing-ness.
I am not Your mumbled up words, nor am I a fragment of Your imagination.
I am who I am, I am who I AM says I am.

I did this once flip this script for a moment, to make this poison less potent.
They have sput in my ears words so profane and called this nonsensical rumbles love,
I do not believe in that Your "cupid's" arrows.
When love is like a mucky stream,I shall not tred into it.
I will not join my soul to another, a promise they have made, broken and destroyed ,
a million times to make it thus reduced to dust, slowly being blown off into the distant wind.
...
Grow up You foolish bum. Get off Your lazy thrown and shed off Your crown of complicity.
Walk on, as the wind ushers in a reality of an on coming desert.
*** *** ***
Till next we meet.
Kwaheri.

playing tapes in my head (1 of many)

My Mistress Melancholy 

Been in search of a muse, yet i found her,
So close not so far, not so far from my window.
My my my! I would never lie, for now I have found Her.
Hidden deep within my life, thought Her dead to till this evening.

I had Her buried alive ,or so I thought,
only to find out later, that i had never.
A mistress oh so gloom, a smile so shy ,
yet so deadly in her gaze, could bleed You soul dry.
A face so pale, eyes filled with tears,
I never heard of the day She did fear.

I had Her by the hand , as ever I had feared,
 my close companion, yet never my closest.
I couldn't believe that I never did hear Her,
Yet all this while, in my ear She did whisper.

Dressed in white, my clad oh so black,
It looked more like an old movie picture.
No sound track but the wind, slowly as it howled ,
the trees bent over, as though they were crying.

Laid by the banks of the Styx,as I bid the ferry man away,
In my heart I did wish that she was in there with him.
She did lay by my side, holding me oh so tightly,
 my senses were too numb ,that I did ignored it.
Never felt her touch, though I took heed to Her presence.

Lost now as it seems, I'll help me find myself.
For one last time, believing in reality,
 you close Your mind to to possibilities.
Her words still vivid in my ears,
 every night I see her, when I become a dreamer.

This now, I dedicate to my Dearest,
 Never You be jealous , thank God You'll never be her.
The mistress You replaced, was never the sweeter,
 my muse to this night ,yet You'll never see her.

Verses from my abyss

Darkness did loom in the front side of my view, to clear only at the end to reveal what seemed like a light.
Seemed to be, yet soon I found out that truth is hidden in the silence of my throbbing wounds.
A friend told me that I grew stranger each day, a bit colder with each touch.
I guess I have the world to blame, for making me believe in their lies for promises.

 My eyes do seem to lack a sense of the living, and trivia nolonger in my tongue;
I've grown wiser to know to be silent, watch the world prove itself wrong.
I walk each path I choose, though I must , as men do, regret to be living;
still I take comfort in the terms of my contract, MORTALITY in the bold small prints.

I have to close my eyes each night, never certain of tomorrow's light.
As I sleep I leave my curtains open, to let in the first light in at dawn.
Though I smile, I sometimes am sad, that I still do live.
The knowledge of a greater purpose makes me dance in my steps.

I have indulged in suffering to long,and now know that fear is irrational.
Every thing on earth has begun to end, the start did now usher the finish.
I soon will close my eyes, in the beauty of ignorance, awake to the light of a distant world.
I never cry any more, for my tears I have dried on the rocks of dispair.

As this does in it's truest steps fade into the sea, let the begining kiss deeply the hands of time;
to bid this words away.
:-)

Just another thought.

Just another thought, I feel the whole world breath
It may be night right now, but am alive again.
The pain just moving through my veins, my blood in flames again.
Now sorrow is the solution, I won't play this game.

This was my dawning light, I was the last to fight.
This was my plea at night, I won't give-in to fright.
The solemn vow at night, can we stand the light?
I will not follow You, my joy was mine to loose.
I lost it all before, what do I have to fear?

The silence rules the night, the darkness turns to light;
The victims bleed in tears, their rage will drain away.
I've seen it all before, the scars that were left to show.
Am silent in this life,I won't fight You with my words.
I've fallen through these cracks, and tonight I will be free;
The cage was made of gold, I've gained the whole world though.

Don't follow me tonight, this road is not for two.
The fortune though was told, I know it was never true;
I've take no-one's side yet, doubt I'll do it still.
The pain was far to great, the scream could not be heard.
Tell me the truth instead,tell me how far I fell.

The silence rules my life, this paranoia 's mine alone.
I've held this flame inside, I'll let it burn Your eyes.
The story 's far from told,  the end is far from cold.
I have the life I live,till death do we part.

An unfinished piece, none-the-less, is a piece in itself.

Till next we meet again,
Kwaheri.  

Ideas floating?

Ever had an idea about something? Anything?
Would You say that You pushed to accomplish it?
Ideas are somewhat the non-consistent fundamental of each action we do take.Non-consistent, not cause they aren't the first to come before an action,but because we rarely have the time to discover that an idea led us to where we are. I am a Christian by faith, so the whole universe to me is as a result of an Idea. God's idea was ideal in a way, and so much so His intended image of Himself portrayed in humanity to the point of us having our own will to use, as He has his will too.
As an artist, I am in-tune with the whole thing about ideas... creativity is as a result of an idea.Ideas are all around us waiting to be seen, yet ,it is the things right in front of the eyes of men that are most elusive.
The whole idea is not worth it's salt if it is never pursued. If a painter has an idea and never places it on paper as a rough sketch, on his desired medium as a finished painting, the entire idea is useless.
Get an idea and work on it.

Till next we meet.
Kwaheri.
  

She to Me became the crying moon.

She whom I did till now love did cry each night,in her dreams joy did elude,
The deluge of tears did drench from far above into my soul, thus in my sleep I would awake.
The moon did weep as She did each night, each tear was Her's alone.
The desert thorns did embrace my skin, yet their pain could never compair,
a man whom to console his beloved could not.


*** *** ***


The night did its length eternity perceive to become, as I did to the lord of her pain battle.
He did break each of my bones, yet never my soul, and as I drew out life from him;
did from her chains let her loose.


The price paid to me but a token, as in her lap did I fall
 soon from this land to fade, and from her hands a gratitude so pure did she offer.
As life did fade from the torn lover, He did profess love to love at last.


Now her tears are of freedom and gratitude, sung each night in her wails ,
so do listen deep to the night time breeze, and the dew's embrace.
As I did  fade I watched, as my beloved did for me become the weeping moon.


Don't be deceived that the death of a character in this life of dreams would mean less than if it were in the "real" world. Reality is ,like any-other known word, full of differing meaning to all of us.
The story to some may seem complete, yet it is just but a prelude of what is a longer tale of separation...
I still can't help but remember the notion of my forgetting a promise I made, yet haven't fulfilled. So let the fairy tale lovers sleep easy tonight, for all 's well in the end, in this life or  the next as they do say.

The muse for a weird tale as such would be a song so beautifully sad in tone as The Rusmas' "funeral song"... or a piano composition by some lady whom I can no-longer pronounce Her name...

"Sweet Tragedy" was the name of the full tale... of mortal whom in the time of night as in death do return to their immortal beings. Hidden within is the humour of life and the amorous smile of love.

Till next time we do meet again,
Kwaheri.

Pause

So pause, watch me as I cry,
tears like the rain, the pain is my alone.
So pause, here do I stand,
follow till the end , I am not Your slave.
So pause, rejected by the world,
disowned by my own past, left here alone.
So pause, listen or now speak,
Follow in too deep, drowning in my fears.


No pause, I will be so bold,
scream away the pain, there will be no shame at all.
No pause, the end is so near ,
torture hidden in every verse, calling out these chains.
No pause, I will run away,
run towards my faith, watch as time unfolds.


... 
The poet belittled, disguised by fate.
This is the truth hidden in every pain staking page of a book written best in the deepest night.
If anyone had the guts to open up their heart to what is known as truth, the glass barrier of fear. To discover that You don't continue to sink when You let out Your heart to the wind, instead You find that the wings laying domant by Your side do start to grasp the wind and in turn You take flight.
 Till we meet at a later time,
Kwaheri.

And now the journey begins.

Tomorrow may never come to be a reality...atleast that's the answer that I got from my sibling so as to encourage me to start what I have to do today, at the same time to discourage me from saying that I would be better-off doing it tomorrow. So the actual reality that life is like a certain blank cheque that You find on Your door step each morning, which if not cashed within 24hours, is quite irrelevant. To pick up the cause of being who I am, is in essence a way of being a person unique in purpose and make(being original). As a painter, I have come to learn that most painters need to be creative(hence creativity) But the "witless Art-lovers" do condemn us to copying one-another. I say "witless" in the light of the fact that, they in most cases would have a hard time discovering which part of a brush to hold...what the implication of every stroke of the brush does to an artist once it leaves the pattern of paint on canvas(which is in general for the material)... Well, that's a story for another day.
The journey to finally becoming who we are is essentially what many people do refer to as "BREAKING FROM THE MOLD OF SOCIETY". The error in the eyes of the followers of the social norm is that, in the attempt of hiding their fears to accomplish much, they will end up labeling the uniqueness in others as being weird. This may apply to the embracing of the DIVINE purpose of which You are made for.
If You've ever read the Parable of the talents, You will end up knowing why it is a celestial crime to never embrace your talent. See in Mathew 25:14-30, Jesus did tell the story of the Lord who on His departure of a long journey did call to Himself  three of His servant, and to each gave an amount of talents( some refer to it as bags of gold) according to their own ability.
So,(just in case You don't know how it went) one servant was given five and did that double, the second one servant was given two which He too did double. The exception was the third servant who did hide his single bag in the ground for safe keeping...argued that the master is harsh and harvests where he does not sow. True as he may have been, the Master did on His return repay the two servants who did their talents double by giving them a potion of His kingdom to manage, where as the latter servant was condemned to live outside the kingdom, and his single bag of gold given to another.
The social norm is based on people hiding their heads in the sand when it comes to truth. Don't hide Your vast bags of gold in the ground for (said) safe keeping, instead, use it to it's full and watch it grow into a tree which produces more.
Personally, being called crazy is the best thing to ever happen to me. I'm the guy who walks the path of few ...
try it,BE YOUR SELF(Your own person), and chose the path You will follow, for on the day judgement shall  be handed on this race, each will stand to his/her own flaws and good. Find the map and follow the path the Creator does approve.
this is actually the first ever blog-post i wrote but did't publish.
Till we meet again,
Kwaheri.

A lady I once met.

I once went to "Kuona Trust" to feed my inquisitive mind. I walked around the compound feeding off personal stories from other artists, Young and Old alike. But one did stick out, not a painter, not a sculptor like the others but a writer...Each story is unique, and that's why I think Hers is worth writing.

She by Her own thoughts would not call Herself an artist before a self professed painter as myself, Yet to me She humbled me with what she had written. Her stories took me out of the realm of the norm, and placed me at a spectator seat next to the events of her life.A single wooden chair in the middle of an on going event. Left to witness closely, yet at a far off distance... safe distance if You may.

She to me is a painter, a singer, a sculptor and an all in all true artist. She can paint what was as if it is, sculpt her own emotions out of thin air into a monument so visible, and in Her word You can hear the songs of Her past...in the time now present.

Short as it may be,this is an acknowledgement of one who did make me humble.She is greater than I that I may acknowledge, for only one greater than Yourself could humble You.

All I had that day was my well ploughed mind (ready to recieve a seed), my heart( which I could not leave broken in a jar),... and after all the rest, was an A5 sketch book, which I had chosen to use as a note book. 

I didn't want to leave out any moment, since it would have been all in vain to have arrived their and done so.So what happened!! Well, I spoke to This Young petite Lady and for some reason wanted to know her story... unlike the sculptors, the painter and the phootographer, this person had more to her than She let out.  She hid her hair behind a green scarf and like wise attempted to veil Her eyes behind Her glasses. There was a lock of hair peaking from the scarf, and a depth her eyes that was only an idiot who could miss or even attempt to ignore.

Honestly, the painter I met there had His hands covered in paint ,the photographers were keen on what was on their desks,the sculptors with a rigid hand shake that allowed You to feel the rough palms of a sculptor who has for ages been working pieces out of tough media... then there She was, a person I could not place. At first I thought Her a painter ,since She was arranging paintings in a room full of them. Then on a closer look, no paint on Her hand or even spots of paint on attire. No painters-pallet in room either. 

Well She was arranging some work that had been exhibited on "Kuona Trust's" open day in an attempt to move them else-where, when I walked in. 

Some weird pleasantries only I could present, then a conversation that had me attempting to find the puzzle that was this Young Woman standin infront of me. Get me right, I am least interested in a love story, so just dispence the thought from Your mind. If one meet a map You wish to find Your prescent position Your destination, as well as the most clear of routes to get there. This is to me the best route to introduce the person.

  During the conversation, Her voice would have sounded like any other voice, yet something else did lurk behind the norm of her speech.Long story,on how She works in the administration block as a "desky" and not as an artist in that studio... then came the more often "but". Other than a "desky", She did write a blog on Her spare time, which to her was not as often as she would wish.

The level of curiosity that did follow,I  had to see this blog. She spoke of Her blog as if, it was nothing much, not even much to look at,yet at the same time, there was immence pride in Her voice about it(not the snort nose pride, but a self appreciation of Her work).Since I had the guts to say I can not write it down as She said it, I offered her my sketch book and a pen, and She did oblige to write the blog's name for me. Just a plus, Her hand writting is far much better than mine...(note to self:Tim, work on Your hand writing.Looks like a two year old writing the alphabets). 

So, I suppose, I would not write this if I had read a single word of the blog...or haven't been reading it. She still intrigues me till this moment, on how vast she can write in very tiny spaces of time and web page.

Oh, so this is what she wrote,'http://kui-silentstar.blogspot.com'... Yes, She wrote the whole "http://", bit. Clever, beautiful, and creative... what are the odds? 

Well that's kinda it, the topic I couldn't leave without posting. Has all the makings of a good story. 

Till next time we meet, 

Kwaheri.  

Acknowledge.

*Only a fool deems himself above reproach,
turns his face from self judgement,
forsakes reason for what may last a while,
provokes the wise with ignorance that no remedy can be found.

Only fools dance to the songs of blasphemy,
trod on the path of the wicked,
close to a scornful man do delight*

So, to an average person, You may be deemed insane, cause You are above them. As human beings, we all have a tendency of at time not acknowledging that we are wrong when we are.Funny as it may sound,it takes a lot of one's person to state that they are wrong. Just try saying that You are wrong when You are, and if You are rebuked and corrected, take it as a guide to wisdom. If You are rebuked and scorned, never corrected, move away from that person before they poison  Your mind with nonsense.
I do remember that I promised to give You a taste of the poem "The Latin dancer",but at the moment, that will be unnecessary. Soon though, when I have the time, I will give a text or two from it.

That's all for now...
Kwaheri.

Embrace by night

I did reach out to embrace You in my dreams, as once did I in my life do.
The mist that did cloak the once sweet memory of Your face did not lift.
I hope for the moon light not to fail me, for it was the tether that our present and past did together hold.

Master  the pain my dear friend, for that some of us is but the muse that does reveal truth to us.
I thus hold dear this truth as thought my own breath, that love You till the end will I ;
for what is a man without a woman to love, or thus, a woman a lover in a man.

Be now my woman, though distant to me, and I will Your man be...

Sometimes when a poet does recite the lines to his poetry, they will always fight the millions of voices that plead to be heard, and in turn concentrate on one. That which at the moment does carry reason, and cause to his present predicament. I watched a lady do the flamenco Yesterday and did loose my sense for a moment in the beauty of her motion...for that moment, the whole world did begin to move in slow motion, and the curves on her body moved like grass in the gentle breeze, yet her feet did pound the ground like a thousand stud-buffaloes on a maddened rampage. The way her dress moved....
 See, I could goon for ages on the description... maybe I will tell you what else I wrote about the "Latin dancer",later. Patience is the virtue that we all should embrace in order to understand. Lao Tse stated that "he who understands others is learned, but he who understands himself is wise". I suppose the is Yours where You wish to start... I now dwell on an equilibrium of both.

No sleep anytime soon for me, as I look for answers in books once more.Answers only I can ask."Eyes of the dragon" By Stephen King will be my isle of solace for the next while, as I travel close by with the Iliads of one known to date as Homer.

Till next time we meet,
Kwaheri.

Kiss the night goodbye.

Well, I usually subscribe to the club of insomniacs. I simply sleep less than Your average person, and bare the pain that comes with this lifestyle. As always, people say that being an artist, makes one become the number one suspect of all the weird stuff that happens around us.

* I sat outside bellow the stars last night, to watch the stars pass me by.
My dreams fade into oblivion, as the night did irrationally pace on into eternity.
My past now behind me,my present before me;
as the future did in patience wait her turn.
Forget what was, as the cloud did teach us to dance;
around a non-existent moon, to compare with that which I can see...*

That would make more sense if we all did as I did most of last night,make everything around You dark enough, so that You can busk in the of the moon.
Well, the beauty of it all is evident,maybe cause I remember a phrase in a movie that I did once see" the reason You can't see the stars so well in the city is cause, the city-lights block the light of the stars". In a simple shred of  insanity, I decided to lay down on the cold concrete outside my Folks home to stare up at the moon and stars(that's after I put off all the security lights that did illuminate the compound.).

When this post is placed out there for all to see, I'll be going to get me some well needed two hours of sleep.
Till next time,
Kwaheri.