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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 · 都市
分數不夠
51 Chs

DISTANCE

In measured time,

I sped through life's vast plain,

Time irrelevant,

my pace could not be restrained.

In calamity's grip,

I reached out fast and bold,

Faster than a bullet,

a tale of a friend untold.

Sometimes,

I envy their peaceful restful sleep,

While checks bounce than a basketball's leap.

In a court where justice often

hides its face,

Safety's found in being interesting,

a unique case.Perhaps stars are mere thoughts inside our minds,

Or part of a cosmic plan,

where meaning binds.

Plans sent and received,

yet yielding naught but strife,

Money serves where there are plenty,

else a fleeting life.

Shorter than a restaurant's straw,

moments we savor,

Relationships rest or forever change in that flavor. Where's the old vibe of being true at home,

Without cables and plugs,

just hearts free to roam?

Tuning to stations,

finding static in the omnibus,

A mental booking,

a hall,

a pass,

it's all in us.

Intelligence questioned by peers,

seen as mere peeves,

A cloud of connection,

a bond that never leaves.

The roads link streets with faulty connections,

you see,

Mixed with bumps and potholes,

haunting our journey.

Generous skies bless both poor and the bold, Blossoming in dark light,

stories yet untold.

Flames of strength like a Phoenix's cry,

Our forefathers' songs,

as the sun says goodbye.

The moon smiles from the east,

wise and knowing,

Celestials gather,

and crickets start their showing.

Sons and daughters, forgetting our ways,

Engaged foreign culture these modern days.

No names for leaders,

heroes,

or sheroes,

it seems,

No communion

Our Heavenly Father in dreams.

Winds carry echoes of fallen ancestors' cries,

The moon and stars fade,

with sorrow in their eyes.

As cold winds blow,

a fading smile turns to frown,

But the spirit of old,

in our hearts,

shall be found.