Abstract perspective of a yellow stairscase by Markus Spiske is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0

Suicide runs in my family. My uncle jumped over a bridge and drowned when I was a kid. Then years later, my big sister followed, she died in the hospital with the doctors giving CPR on a dead body. The only things she left behind were bills, tears, and a son. And maybe a bit of memory imprisoned in photographs and resuscitated in the person of her son— as a reminder that she was once here. I missed both funerals. I feared I would be taking another dead body to another person’s funeral. She was a good woman, though. I loved her.

I’ve also had thoughts of my own, of suicide. But it’s hardly noticeable, even to me. I know this from the way I live my life like I’ve got a spare— forlorn, tired, bitter, unlovable, isolated as if I’ll enjoy the next life. All these could kill me if I’m not dead already.

Though I live a careful life, death grins every time I leave the house. Everything is trying to kill me. Touts manhandle me to board their vehicles as if they’re about to dislocate parts of me. Others suffocate me with love as if I’m not already dead inside.

Suicide runs in my family. It would be okay if nobody was running in my family. But obesity would kill them too. So, I run in my family, to keep fit. To prevent my body from killing me as it did my sister. I saw her frail in the hospital bed for months, as she fought to keep alive, and her body weakened, responding with the opposite energy. And I grinned because I didn’t know what to say to the setting sun.

And I avoid drowning in alcohol, too. I live with my heart on my sleeves, and a fist in my pocket. Because it is suicide if the things you love kill you too.

¬By Brainy O’Bee

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A Weed Party

Photo by Pok Rie on
I had a little garden,
A garden my dad gave me,
Gave me ‘fore he died.

I went to see my garden,
My garden in the countryside,
The country green and lush.

So I tilled my garden,
My garden till it cleared,
Cleared up all the weeds.

I brought some seeds with me,
Of ‘tatoes and ‘matoes,
Tomatoes surely sell.

I packed up went back home,
Back home to do my job,
My job is pretty boring.

It rained upon my garden,
My garden grew so fast,
Fast forward by a month.

I traveled back to see it,
See, it did look great,
See all these leafy greens.

But were these *‘tatoes and *‘matoes?
No ‘tatoes and ‘matoes here!
Here were plants I did not plant.

One weed, two weeds, three weeds,
Three weeds, ten weeds, twenty,
Twenty-twenty was the year.

Bullies all over my farm!
My farm was clearly invaded,
Invaded by invasive plants.

A weed is an unwanted plant,
A plant I didn’t put here,
Here I was discouraged.

A weed party, is what it was,
It was a gruesome sight,
Sight that made my heart sink.

I stood my ground that day,
That day I made it clear,
Clear for all to hear.

This party is over!
The weed party is over!
Now everyweedy go home!

Photo by Eva Elijas on
'tatoes- potatoes
'matoes- tomatoes

Writing off Fears

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on

Writing off Fears

There is not a day,
That I did not plan,
To sit and write a poem.

Why? There always has been,
One topic- too many,
Hoarded here at heart.

Yet I did not write,
For I fear my words,
Might come piercing back.

I've heard some say,
Words ruin good things,
I've already lost enough.

Yet here I am sitting,
Writing off my not writing,
I will not fear failing. 

For I must brave up now, 
To write for the future, 
Who's 'now' will be the past.

For more reading…

Jonah’s Tree 2

Jonah of old to Nineveh went,
And when his mission did end,
He sat in the heat of the sun
His head got burnt and scorched
But the Lord with His mercies full,
Gave Jonah a tree for shade.

The tree gave him back his life,
When his neck was bent,
His throat badly parched,
He was refreshed,
His spirit revived.

The Lord then sent a worm
Which did eat the tree,
Which did then kill the tree
And Jonah got upset,
But the tree remained lifeless.

You are a tree,
The worm is near,
The worm must come,
To bring you back home,
To rest your body in soil,
The soil from which you came.

What will you do before then?
Dear tree, will you shelter?
Will you restore a dying man?
The master made you for shelter
Shade a Jonah with your lovely leaves.
And be ready for the worm is near.

Jonah’s Tree

In this journey called life, Missing a turn has brought many strife,
Things would be different; if we’d live more in the moment
As God’s grace is enough, even when our will supercedes His
I’d appreciate the plant like Jonah, enjoy the good while it lasts

When your steps are slagged, do not lose your spark
He gives rest, Just as He provided a shade for Jonah
His love is always up, and it’s burn as intense as the sun
Even when from purpose we run, He will quench our thirst

When you get a win, live a life that is full of praise
Keep your eyes on the prize, you might just get a raise
But be careful lest you settle, a worm might be sent
Just like one was for Jonah, and the tree that grew just fell


By Moses Waihura

Are you troubled?

When I do overcome,
Only then shall this battle end,
Till then ’twill be tears and fears,
For fear- a living thing,
Will always haunt it’s prey.

To man is given,
Two glorious weapons,
One love, the other courage,
Love to shield,
Courage to pierce the foe.

There is but one end-
A victor and a victim,
Who entertains thoughts of fear?
They will certainly lose,
For courage concedes not defeat.

So when you do feel it-
That overwhelming fear,
Hold a friend’s hand for courage,
Think upon love,
In fact resist your enemy’s lure.

sad Am.

This heart pounds fast
When my soul gets hurt
Then my tear-filled eyes
Can not hold anymore
So my breathing shifts
As my nostrils clog
I try to hold it in
But my courage fails

An awful sigh departs
As my tears well up
Just then they break their banks
‘To a stream or two
Nature pulls them down
Or else they’d gush at you
My heart catches fire
As more tears spiral down
To quench a heart hurt fire
In my burnt-up soul.

What do you do when you’re sad💔?Leave a comment.


I Choose You

I love you.
So I’ll bind myself with these vows,
In front of the bishop,
And a crowd of witnesses and gossips,
To love and to cherish you,
Until death takes me home.
Not just on sunny days,
I want to stick around through your ugly days,
To share in sickness and in health.

Though it scares me to say,
I want to go into labor for you,
That I might birth your offspring.
Children with your very frame.
So when I say I love you,
I’m acknowledging your village folk,
Even when they throw skeptical glances my way,
I’ll still respect them.
Your mama and papa,
Who I haven’t already met-
I choose them too,
And I will put up with them,
Just for you.

And when I say it’s you,
I know you can not cook,
And that your sink is always full,
You never needed a dish rack,
You only wash when you have to cook,

I’ve seen the fruit flies in your kitchen,
And smelt the stench of your bathroom,
But I will still take you,
With your burping habit,
And reeking feet,
If I am choosing you,
I’ll take this mixed-up batch.

I have seen you praising Him,
Felt your brokenness in prayer,
Watched you spread kindness like confetti,
I have seen your smile,
And heard your contagious laugh,
I have seen you work,
You never quit till you succeed,
I have peeked at your strong arms,
With which you’ve lifted many,
And I want to trust them too.
To lift us up in prayer.

I’ve had dreams and goals,
And as I choose you,
I’ll ascribe to yours too,
To back you up in all you do,
And if all my life I be your slave,
My poison is you so I’ll take it.
When I say I love you,
Think of this- there is no shorter route.


Today I am a cloud,

sitting on the air,

in my white balloon dress,

which I prefer than grey.

I’m drifting to the west,

away from rising sun,

wind seems a bit too happy,

he’s blowing me away-

Pushing me right,

then pushing me left,

pushing me left of right,

then pushing me right of left,

For sure am torn apart,

by all this fidgeting.

And in this sunless- cold,

I feel a bit alone.

In the midst of this expanse

It’s solitude I feel.

Am but a little cloud,

standing above a hill,

sadness turns me grey,

And I start tearing down.


It Could Kill You.

Nature is a love,
Vulnerable yet true,
Delicate like rose petals,
Rare like the sighting of a bat at daytime,
Or the night jar at at day break.

Nature is the brilliance of sunrise,
The magnificence of sunset,
It’s the gentle breeze on a hot summer,
And tender grass under a toddler’s tiny feet.

It’s the lover’s love –
One he sought for years,
Till one day it showed up,
Much like an eclipse –
It was there, it was true,
It was beautiful then did fade.

Nature is the angry tide,
That broke the sandy castle,
Ran down with wicked waves,
It’s the fault line lakes which broke banks,
Submerged the villagers’ villages,
Took their territories.

It’s a dreadful tsunami,
Which packs up homes, lives, cities,
Leaving an indelible mark,
As that of a wildfire,
Though it brought up good shoots,
For the gazelles to graze,
Still killed the slow serpents,
And beasts that couldn’t escape.

So nature is a love,
That burned, drowned,
Yet also warmed, and gave life,
And it will kill you,
If it so pleases.