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Letters for my Mother

"Letters for my Mother" is a collection of thoughts, emotions, and socioeconomic factors that have hindered my mother and me until her passing in 2007. At that time, I was away from home, moving from place to place, bunking on my sister's house one year and moving on to the other like clockwork. It was traumatic for me since I grew up knowing that I come from a large family of twelve and now living with different people all together or sometimes coming home to find my big sister hasn't arrived from work, so it was books and TV to keep me company. Most of the time, they were trying times as distance kept my two brothers and me from bonding fully. I am glad that I found an outlet for my part where everything seems to be going and coming. What was constantly being right was I thank them fully for taking me to high school, where I found my calling. Art, for me, was a constant where everything is a variable. I never knew I was artistically gifted in all areas of art. I found myself doing drama and musical at form one barely one month into the school. Next year, I found myself in Environment and Science Congress. I had hoped initially that I would blossom to be a scientist. There was this character, Dexter's lab, where he was a boy genius living in a suburban home and having a secret lab in the basement; it was an eye-opening factor for me, and I had to exercise to the fullest. Form three and four were full of music and festival of arts; that was where I grew my art to visual, and poetry came to me as a second language. You probably have figured out that school for me was not for learning, rather for making friends and trying my foot in various forms of art. After high school and pre-youth and college year (I studied computer graphic design for three months, and I dropped out for one reason I will share in my latter works), I found my calling in theatre and performing arts. I loved being on stage, acting, and bringing characters to life with costumes and lights. Telling narratives to the audience and watching them move with awe and splendor. Some hated me from curtain raise to curtain call, booing me for being the antagonist, and applauded wildly when I played the hero. After a while, I felt sick and stagnant for doing the same thing and staging in the same theatre. I saw different cultures and people around Kenya, my country, and settled for drawing and writing poetry and books. To be honest, I was a bit skeptical about my works and would write and draw sketches, and if they don't work out, I would tear them out and flush them. I know I was my worst critic, but I had my first break at 2017 under Storymoja and mentorship of Muthoni Garland, Samira Mathews, and Monity Odera. I published a children's book, "Monsters Who Disobeyed," translated to Swahili, also known as "Malipo ya Ukaidi." It was a milestone for me. I really appreciate my efforts, and three years later, I compiled this book for myself and also the whole world as a reminder that you can be yourself and be the greatest version; you just have to believe. My shortcoming is that my mother, may her soul rest in peace, would be proud of the young man I have become, being that I have never had the chance to show her how talented I am. To all the dreamers and the creatives out there, I would like to give a nugget of wisdom to all that the first step is the hardest, but you will get there eventually. After a while, I must say I am well-versed with various art forms, and I speak the language fluently. As a reader and a fan of my work, I must acknowledge that it is a pleasure giving you access to my world, and I hope to share a room in your library as a favorite.

ODUOR_ISADIAH · Urban
Not enough ratings
51 Chs

DEADBEAT

Hear my pulse **beating from** a far way,

Like **women beating yams** from the villages to usher in the new day,

Cows **mowing grass** and rooster on his post, to welcome the golden age.

Like the Sun to the Moon we see eye to eye. **But we can never coexist** in the same environ.

How can you walk away from your family? leaving your sons and daughters to fend on their own?

Mother **becoming more than a Wife**, stepping up to fill in the shoes left behind.

Being a father to the sons and daughters of man is not easy, I say,

I can teach you how to love my dear ones,

Just promise me that you will not turn out as your Father.

I guess the only father figure I relate to is my uncles and neighbors and male teachers in my school,

The only father I am left with is up above looking and taking care of my well-being.

Being a boy is not easy, especially when your siblings look up to you,

I am only but a boy, or should I say man cub,

What strikes me is the similarity between my Father and God is that they both rested on the seventh day.

God blessed the day after working for six days and kept it as a Sabbath.

My father, on the other hand, rested his case after **he saw** that I was six years old, old enough to get educated.

You could say I learnt the hard way, tough love.

He left one morning as usual for work,

**That was** the last time I heard from him.

I can't even find the words that best describe the pleasure of knowing that you find strength when you are the weakest at heart.

Leaving a hole in our lives never to be filled with love and happiness,

The nights when we had no lights and we had to make ourselves shine and get out of the shantiness,

The moment I made top three in lower primary school,

Mother **sang** and praised her son for not only being kind to every soul,

Saying out loud, "My son is built for cleverness,

One day he might conquer the mountain Everest.

He might be the hero in our midst,

Despite all odds, he sure is a walking testimony,

Of what determination and prayer can make you be.

From beating yams in the village women, making the best out of the African staples,

He sure did beat the **deep hollow** in his heart,

One day when you get your own place and start a family,

Be kind to **the mother of your children** and don't turn and be like your father."