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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

FORBIDDEN FRUIT

"The apple falls from branches high and free, Sweet, ripe,

it beckons with its tempting hue,

Its innocence concealed,

a truth to see,

In biting,

we embrace a fate we knew.

The trap of choices,

timeless,

ever bright,

The final bite,

the consequences looming,

As we await our judgment in the night,

Rowdy with guilt,

our actions all assuming.

We fall,

and in this prison we remain,

Our thoughts are confined,

outside the box unknown,

Emotions weave their cunning,

endless chain,

We hang on ledges,

chocking on our own.

Perception shifts as downward as we descend,

Our voices echo,

but they're lost,

it seems,

In mediocrity,

we try to blend,

While others savor apples in their dreams.

We're not the same,

some limbs in plenty of gleam,

While 'disabled' reach the tree with lesser chance, Would you share more,

fulfill a whispered dream,

Or keep it all inside,

your heart's expanse?

I drown in thoughts,

a self-made cage,

it's true,

Cocktails of time keep coming,

one by one,

I seek salvation,

wondering what to do,

In twisting,

turning time,

my race is run.

I slipped outside,

discovered truth anew,

Perhaps the fruit's not tainted,

as we thought,

What if its seeds in concrete jungles grew,

Would you partake,

or judgment have you caught?

The apple fell,

its fruits held a surprise,

Beyond our understanding,

it would soar,

Perception's lens,

through which we scrutinize,

And in the forbidden,

sweetest truths we store."