Writer: Tyson Okello
Title: Not for the devil
You may tumble
You may stumble
But never let yourself crumble
The world is a better place with you in it
You the flower that make it colorful
The anxiety is lying to you
You are doing great
Remember to breathe
A bad day is only 24 hours
This life is not for the devil, it’s ours
Fully paid for on the cross
Don’t wait until you are empty to fill up again
Take a break, it’s not the same as giving up, it has gains
When things are overwhelming, pause
Don’t spin the wheels without pressure inside
Let it be known to you
That you not alone.
Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about,
Name: Atupye Tweve
Title: You Not Alone
To the lost soul
of whom the heart is chained,
I write to you
who hides behind a mask.
Making them believe
in your false smiles and happiness
not to see a ticking boom
ready to explode.
To the soul
that has lost its way,
Finds no purpose in life.
Seeks healing in livid bruises,
Comfort in darkness
and worth in death.
I see you grief the lose of your loved ones,
Dwelling in the guilt of your choices and mistakes.
I feel your pain when no one appreciates your sacrifices,
The pressure to be great and fulfilling their expectations.
I know your struggles to fit in and longing to be acknowledged.
I’m aware of your sleepless nights too.
I speak to you
Shoot no brains out nor cut any wrists,
Don’t go for those pills nor that poison,
Hang no rope around your neck nor jump down a skyscraper.
Take no life of yours for it’s precious.
Suicide is not the only solution nor is depression a permanent illness.
I’ve seen many surrender
Giving in to depression
Sinking in their emptiness
Blinded by their own choices
of suicide as a solution.
And they caused pain, broke hearts,
Leave puzzle questions and tortured minds,
Broke families and the peace of people
they left behind.
Remember life is a goal
Every step is a challenge.
U drowned in your tears
And lost in your thoughts so long.
But I see you know, you’re worthy.
You’re the light he seeks; the hope she waits.
You’re people’s smiles and my inspiration.
Let it all out, let someone help you
cause we are ready to help.
Be brave and stay alive
You’re not alone anymore.
Writer: Wambui Kariuki
Title: Twenties, thirties and forties
The twenties are prime, and enjoyable
Bitter and sweet
Loving and heartbreaks
Friendly and betrayal
Friends to strangers
And strangers to friends,
Thirties will catch up with twenties,
Asking what they have done
Why they don’t have cars and big monies
Thirties will look at twenties and still ask
Why aren’t you experienced?
In love, business, education, connections,
And all that the 21st century has to offer?
Then thirties will laugh
Twenties is sad, suicidal and competitive
The ideas put in mind by thirties,
Too much pressure
Twenties, looks for ways to cope
Twenties allowed depression after that knock
Thirties, who’s full of ideas, that kill
Ideas that destroy small efforts, doesn’t see
Doesn’t see forties
Forties, being a little bit wise
Where’s your family?
Why do you drink all day?
Was having a car an accomplishment?
Why are your parents in the mud house?
That’s forties ….
Writer: Atyoung Okumu
Title: God’s Own Treasure
Such a beautiful soul
Created in God’s own image
A unique being
A treasured being
To many, an envy!
Why do you feel worthless?
Who said you are useless,
Meaningless and resourceless?
Please don’t be hopeless
You are harmless
Life is precious
Though people are malicious
With gossips so vicious
Hey, don’t be unconscious
Gain a courage so ferocious
You are a gem
You are a rising star
You are an angel
You ain’t alone
Writer: Bii Eugene Kipkoech
Title: My Blankets
The moaning of my alarm wakes me up every morning,
My blankets cuddling me up like the love of my life.
When you love someone, it is hard to say goodbye.
My blankets are always with me in the dark.
They gift me warmth in the cold.
They embrace me when I am in turmoil.
They love me.
I know I can tell great stories,
Write great poems.
I haven’t written about myself.
Well, great writers do not write their eulogies,
Their writings do.
In the event that I descend to my forefathers,
I know someone best suited to write my eulogy;
They know deep secrets that the dark world cannot tell.
Currently, nobody knows the stories I don’t write,
Nobody knows the nights I put full stops and commas to the stories in my dreams.
Nobody knows the nights I went into commas and poverty almost put a full stop to my self-resuscitation.
If my blankets could write my eulogy,
They would not describe the cuddles and warmth they granted me.
They would describe the birth of my sobbing.
How I would roar like the one-eyed locomotive and shed tears like waterfalls of River Nile.
They would describe how I failed studying stress management,
How I married my problems,
How I often paid the bus fare to the land of my forefathers and failed to travel.
They would count one, two, three up to the infinite time I gave up,
They know my prayers,
They know how my prayers became a song,
They were my audience.
My blankets knew how many times I died at night,
Rose from the dead in the morning smiling.
Nobody knew I was a walking dead during the day.
In the evening, I died once more,
I died so many times.
My blankets understood depression is a cold,
Not a common cold,
That is why they gave me a warm embrace each night.
You have my history,
You know my story.
Let me buy a duvet, and start a new story.
Writings from the heart ♥
Do not contemplate suicide, talk to someone. Everything has a solution.
Writer: Shadrack Adipo Kanjejo
It’s not well
What you think !
You need not be hard
These things are sent
Just to try us
And make us stronger.
It doesn’t have to end
In endless tears,
For your beloved
Remember the moments ;
The idyllic ones,
Those that you shared
How you painted
Their frowny faces
With overwhelming smiles
Do you ever recall
The little ones,
Those that yearn to break through
To brave life hurdles
Those that would yearn
To walk your path
These that wouldn’t stop
Listening to your tussles
How you vanquish them
How would it feel to them
Hearing that you owned up?
That it all
Fell short of expectation ?
Oh, you smart one !
Who would rock your clothes ;
Match your peculiar
Who would make your folks
The delicacies they enjoyed
’cause of you ?
Who would hum them tunes?
Those that only make sense in your presence
They’ll are not ready
For your absence
For they’re deeply immersed
In your presence
Walk that path, not
Swat that thought yet.
The poems are amazing ?
Poetry to me is a therapy. Great work, I have been healed.