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    (Author’s Note: This is a series of poems that deals with stalled dreams, deconstructed artists, a mosaic of life that kills art, and formalizes artists into the leviathan. It also deals with the trade off of artists being less for more cheques.)


    It was better
    Whiled we waited
    Something to look forward to
    By hope, we were baited
    Promises of youth
    Dashed in time
    And yet wisdom wasn’t gained
    Only pay checks,
    What a crime.

    You, you, eh

    You dig out my eyes
    Then ask me to read
    With no sight
    Still the vision I plead
    My case before the throne
    Justice indeed
    Accuser, judge and jailer
    At sea on this earth
    Time made me a sailor
    Troubled waters in deep
    Mother waste not your tears
    Smile for me, try not to weep
    I was a child of the future
    Still born to the present
    I thought in darkness
    Heaven sent is the crescent
    I leave you not much
    Except my laughter as keepsake
    A lot they did
    The comedy of truth
    They can’t break


    Life today,
    Make of it what you may
    As long as you make it
    Inner child slay
    Living on on sarcasm and I wonder why mother still prays
    Only wet hay
    Needs the sun
    Sons of cocoon comforts
    Ships that know no new ports
    Condos and lofts
    Tediously bored oft
    New highs mortgaged to
    Then wander why the butterfly flew
    It’s the child we threw
    The birth water all grew
    Foul, staining life
    In this wasteland of silhouette egos
    Deaths seeks his wife.


    What’s stopping you?
    Me, nothing…
    Merely blissful inertia…
    Borne of my meagre comforts
    To risk and adventure
    My heart has no hots
    Great discoverers in time
    Built great forts
    To keep what in?
    A paradise of sorts?
    It is well thought,
    That you can’t bottle wildness
    Even cage it,
    Of it, Polaroids make a poor witness


    What is yet left?
    With the white flag
    My honour will go…..
    I am no Samurai
    What honour is there
    In poverty in a third world country?
    How can my beliefs
    Make sufficient my paltry
    When was the last time
    My only child had decent pastry?
    How can I deny
    Those innocent eyes
    What shame is there
    If my ideals die
    Chocked elegantly
    By the only reality
    Po, take me.


    In the end,
    Deep in the depraved slums,
    Desperation and love,
    Were the only two, not shams
    As my hopes
    Lay rotting beside me
    A beauty even decay
    Couldn’t deny me
    Rheumatic coughing
    I am still defiant to giving in
    Shunned and ostracized
    There is still serenity within
    I am not my disease……


    Dark glasses, can’t see my future
    Tears in my eyes
    Dead wood to make corrupt furniture
    Pay me for my lies
    The truth ain’t profitable
    Ancestral lands not arable
    Fortuna rolls the dice
    The rich kids can gamble
    Poverty and trouble
    As your hopes and dreams crumble
    Bleak is the colour
    A mosaic of pain and neglect
    Who wants to be 40 and in regret
    Who wants to be 40 and a reject?
    Art has its owners
    Artists aren’t them
    Pay checks hide the shame
    Oh, what’s my name?
    What my benefactor says it is….
    Torture became bliss
    Eve ignored the hiss
    Why shouldn’t i?
    Mine is mine, oh my
    I just want a marble headstone
    When I die,
    Bread crumbs don’t pay for such.


    I could lie
    Pretend that this pain makes me stronger
    Pretend, that I don’t count sheep in bed
    Wondering how much longer
    Till my head stops still
    My heart grows new feels
    I could lie
    That my demons don’t intoxicate me
    Dancing in pitch darkness
    Being Jekyll frees me
    Playing soul frisbee
    When a bee
    No loungers gathers nectar
    Buzzing stuck in tar
    Finally a star
    But on a night of dark clouds and tall shadows
    Sick to the marrow
    Cursing the eventuality of the ‘morrow
    This is beyond
    Where the squirrels barrow
    A pillar of salt
    Gazing at the past
    Salt of the earth
    Snow season, to the road fast


    What do you do
    When the fish don’t bite
    The tides run high
    Darkness hugs the night
    Boat rocking violently
    Dancing to the furious waves
    Nam Lolwe majestic in pride
    Dishing out the shakes
    Made men fortunes
    Then took their lives
    Gave men wet dreams
    Seduced away their wives
    It’s never about the fish
    There’s plenty of that in the sea
    It’s swimming against the tides
    When it’s water as far as the eyes can see
    Fishers’ of men
    With the nets it set us free


    I have been running
    Running all my life
    Running into trouble
    Running into my rubble
    From my memories past
    No matter how fast
    I still run into hurt
    Running out of luck
    Stumbling and falling
    Finding my way in the dark
    Chasing love
    Running circles around my heart
    Fleet footed
    Running with gumption
    Running out of options
    Running out of time
    With hope running low
    As far as my running goes
    The race track never shows
    But any time I try and stop
    It gets enticingly steep

    © Roy Mwamba alias Teflon Don Blunts/Don Gotti

    Facebook :          Teflon Don Blunts
    Twitter:                @DonGotti
    YouTube:            Don Gotti

    [PHOTO CREDIT: Allan Gichigi, Capture Kenya 2014]

    Poet, Rapper, Writer

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