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Tag Archives: faith

God, What is Your Name?


#147NotJustANumber; photo by Muratha Kinuthia

#147NotJustANumber; photo by Muratha Kinuthia

She pleads in Jesus’s name

for salvation of muslim neighbors

God’s army reports for duty

She must now recite the Istefta Dua

Her eyes beg those of the soldier

who killed a teacher of Fardh in Mogadishu

Allah didn’t read that Somalia news

Jehovah Jireh, please save her!

Jesus, Mohammad, Jehovah, Allah

and bullets swirl in a bloody pool of God

by

BT

 

 
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Posted by on April 7, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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A tome with no purpose


Its not clear (photo by John Scully)

Its not clear (photo by John Scully)

My early journals were promises

Swaggering through life

paying no attention to onlookers

Diving into every first time

to the amazement of admirers

The heap of letters is now compost

Festering and full of disease

Sour memories of confusion

Flaring and smoking for nothing

 

They confirmed and affirmed

Travelled everywhere with me

I touched base as with a friend

Reviewed the past like a teacher

A therapist untangling my life

Displaying everything like the insane

It only existed if it was in my journal

 

23 years, a boyfriend,

scenic and threatening Windriver mountains

and a 60 pound backpack scramble,

crowd and settle in

filling my life

The man is the atmosphere

The ‘Winds’, lovers that thoroughly beat me up

And the backpack volunteers to help them

Bruised, scratched and swollen

I keep winning

The snow dares me, marking steep slippery boundaries

pushing me out of the mountains

I write that I have turned into a fountain of tears

 

We are my dad’s daughters

Only university degrees will make us his children

Good colleges and employers

agree that I have a good brain

I hold my BA “happy with life”

The MSc is picked up like a receipt from an office

I win jobs as I read the adverts

Dad smiles wryly

He and I would have been laughing

if schools taught faith

 

A restless spirit plagues me

My family loves me in spite of its foolishness

Friends unveil its deprivation

Men gut it out and parade it in the streets

By mid 1998 the scene gets so ugly

I can’t bear to look

Pages are torn off the journal

Incorrigible repetitive lines succumb to a fire

I stagger under the scorching heat

Employers run around me exhausted and confused

I turn 37 flying business class to London

Feeling “old, tired and ill”

asking God to “speak to my spirit”

 

A haphazard reference, a dated map,

a dirty mirror, a dustbin

A journal is a mad person’s chronicle

I turn 38 knowing if “I can be still”

things will be alright

“feelings are just feelings…and not the truth”

“people are innocent or afraid”

“I must stop fighting and leave others to flare”

Pages later, I turn 39

Am still stressed

I start a separation from the diary

 

A tome with no purpose

A friend writes on hers obsessively into the night

And then makes a fire of it

On vacation she talks to a new journal

more than she talks to me

A man’s lousy poem

is inscribed on my heart and my pages

“short hair, bright eyes, warm look

sharp tongue, wide smile, proud lips

…Until next time”

This writing is now terminal

 

I have no record of turning 41

Dad dies, quaking the earth

Its no use scribbling as

doors to my life shut and trains leave its station

I have nothing to say

Nothing I know can help me

I give in

and eat my mum’s lunch

My spirit becomes still

And I write a good poem

 

by

BT

 
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Posted by on February 6, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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I will not forget who I am


You, Me, Glory

The country has lots its bridle

Kenyans are running wild

Votes cast can’t be found

A twilight swearing-in ceremony

inviting the darkest night

Warriors chant, mothers run

Homes burn, men die

Angry feet stampede

Today no one will meet

where teargas fills the street

 

This is not who we are

We are not animals

We know how to count

The President is not the devil

Men do not thirst for blood

Protesters do not want to bring the country down

Women are full of love

Children dream and believe

We have just forgotten who we are

 

The envious voice is smooth

One day your luck will run out

The fearful words are definitive

You will die a violent death

The defeated spirit is clear

Your man will tame you into cotton wool

The shamed opinion comes first

Let me be honest, you are a mess

The negative response is natural

It will be challenging where you are

The anxious advice is for free

You must run around to survive

 

That is not who I am

The black rain does not mean a thing

You flail about and froth in the mouth

It has nothing to do with me

A lot has been stolen and I am still rich

I have all the time I need and

Age looks beautiful on me

I am a woman with all the good things

The roof has caved in and its’ warm inside

My leg is broken and I rest my mind

I will not forget who I am

BT

 
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Posted by on May 23, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

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Fear


I feel fear

It creeps up on me when I am not looking

When danger is imminent, fear is a fierce attacker

A black shark’s fin stabbing at my soul

A mugger holding onto my throat

A roiling dark sea drowning my lungs

An endless drizzle, making me cold and wet everywhere

 

Am still here. Nothing’s chasing me

Not the thief, the boss or a hungry stomach

There’s no danger, but all’s not well

There’s something heavy in the pit of my stomach

A sourness at home in my mouth

An apology everywhere

Am sitting in the smallest space, the furthest corner

 

This is fear. It is not me and it won’t leave me alone

I feel the pain, adjust my jacket and choose to live

The pain dissolves

Then fear tightly grabs my neck from behind

I can’t breath, I shift the strap of my bag and choose to live

The pain lets go

Then it pours from the sky soaking me with dread

Dear God! Help me God!

 

I have to choose fast

To live or die

To look at the face of fear

I take a breath, look at the darkness and live

 

 

BT

 
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Posted by on April 7, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

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Faith


Anxiety speaks in hush tones

New life breaking from another

It may kill the mother

Sweat trickles down the face of the father

Its’ been too many hours,

Oh God our heavenly father

She’s born with all her ten toes

Made on earth with heaven’s guarantee

 

Kenyans voted but won’t count

Words and machetes fly

Big white men give it a try

Our children cry

We look up to the sky

Those who duel must both win

Hateful flames smoulder into resentful ashes

She runs with her husband’s head in a bag

Only the divine can restore the flag from this rag

 

A smile for all our hearts

He can think in, out and around

But his teeth and his brains are black

And will stain the superpower

He must take his place at the back of the bus

The child of the slave goes down on her knees

Sangomas rattle rocks in their own blood

Men in luminous agbada call on the Holy Ghost

The world of colour turns pale on a long fast

Men in white open White House gates

for the black man

 

The ground moves from under me

Dad alive was our powerhouse

In his death he is overwhelming us

A chapter viciously ripped from our lives

Our beautiful faces ugly with grief

Dear God, help me!

I hold onto a chair for Almighty support

The earth slowly stops swaying

My father smiles and swaggers on home

BT

 
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Posted by on March 12, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

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My Church Is a Small Box



All my life I’ve talked to God. He has never failed me

But my church is a small box. I can’t fit in it and neither can God

To be a child of God, my church’s way, I need never have gone abroad

I need never have approached another person or idea with an open mind

This Christian doctrine and culture is like an ill fitting suit or a small shoe

I can only pretend that am fully covered and can make life’s journey

It takes barely two years for me to be done with a church and its talk

Last Sunday, my Pastor called Oprah an agent of the devil

The Pope says Africa is receiving spiritual trash. I agree

Shout! Shout Amen!

Thank God we now have noise pollution law to shut up the ruckus

 

Men chopping and dicing not to part with any power

She can preach but she can’t be the Pastor

Okay, she can be a Pastor but she can’t be an Elder

Your place is in hell if you drink or smoke

No, some wine is okay but keep off the beer and the liquor

These are the rules, the shifting rules of men and disobedience is called sin

Dance if you must but don’t gyrate over here

That swaying backside suffocates the Holy Spirit

There is no sin like a sex sin to work the church folk into a froth

Your hips and their desires have no place at the alter

If they think you are having sex where they say you should not

God may love you, but they won’t have you

You will be thrown out of the church

and they will work themselves into a righteous frenzy

To keep you out of the office of the Chief Justice

 

We pray for the President even if he may be a thief

Gloat and boast that he came to our church

We must be suspicious of Islam and reject a new Constitution

that gives Muslims the same rights as Christians

Even if the new law stops leaders from stealing from us

If God can hear the prayer of two or three people gathered together,

Why do I need to make the weekly pilgrimage to pray with the multitude?

If a book brought me salvation, why can’t I buy 10 copies for my friends

instead of giving the money to my church?

What’s in good music that draws in millions?

What did we feel when America elected a solid black man to be President?

What made Wangari’s teachings about trees a clear global call?

What causes a man to love his wife and care for his children all of his life?

The power of God is found in creations that may never have been to church

 

When I pray, there is always a light

God is always right here where I am

God visits my church as he does everywhere else

 

 

 

BT


 
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Posted by on February 19, 2012 in Uncategorized

 

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