Wednesday, 7 December 2011


so today I am so mad because this journalist called the Kenyan youth lost alcoholics who had no interest in culture, art or reading. Then the government can't pay doctors coz they are too busy buying themselves chairs that cost 400,000 shillings each. My poem has nothing to do with the above topics but it is an expression of my interests in poetry so in a sense I am making a point here. There productive young Kenyans whose work needs to be respected. So that quack who writes nonsense about us can go jump off a tree in slow motion.Happy reading:)

My conscious mind,
Where memories lie,
Speak of times behind,
Me they lie,
Speak of times no longer I find,
So easily they fly.

Memories they call them,
So fond they are of them.

They perform an ensemble,
Together; maestros,
With every entry of nostalgic title,
Together; epochs,
That capture moments so vital,
Moments so futile,

Kavosa Assava

Monday, 5 December 2011

I saw her running

been away for while, maybe because I had nothing new but I'm BACK!! When I'm stuck in writing I do these short poems of things I have seen that make me think how life is different for each person,,,,,,happy reading:)

I saw her running,
She ran like the child,
Head to the skies,
In hope... with hopes.

So mundane a child,
So trusting she is of earth,
So unmoved by its wild,
So untouched by its lies.

We are so different,
Me and her,
So trustworthy of earth,
It will only hurt her,
To be so trustworthy.

Kavosa Assava

Monday, 14 November 2011

SARAH KAY performs "A LOVE LETTER ..."

Brace My Heart

So again I was writing during class, I know, I know, but I can't help myself. Words just wrote themselves in this one, I have trouble understanding it but I think the 'poet':) was trying to talk about finding some place safe in a world that constantly tests. Happy Reading:)

I see trees in the midst of all this commotion,
All in motion,
In quiet devotion,
Vocation to stand tall,
To not be moved.

I see innocent eyes in the midst of all this commotion,
All in motion,
In quiet devotion,
Vocation to visionary dreams,
To seat on mountain tops.

Methinks of the ghouls that await innocent eyes sordidly,
Methinks of the tangent path that deviates the poor souls idly,
A tree grows straight,
But eyes are tamed by the king of the air,
The lover of all things worldly.

He is a vile despondent,
He counts evil at his fingertips,
And captures the weak at their moment,
Trees soar through to higher grounds,
Grow to touch the sky,
For them it is easy,
But eyes soar through evils,
Vicious creatures that cling to their ankles,
They do not see it easy.

Lord brace my heart before the vile one,
A tree I would love to be,
But an eye is what I am,
So, brace my heart,
For I wish to be,
More than what I am.

Kavosa Assava

Thursday, 10 November 2011

Nobody hears the screams.

Hi everyone:) It's been a few days but this is something new. My inspiration for this comes or came from a story I read about this girl in Europe whose father kept her captive and sexually assaulted her for 24 years. We are living in a period where no one really knows what goes on in peoples homes and if we could take a moment to think of those who have been forced into sexual relations without their consent.....lets do what we can, even if its just one prayer...

These four walls, they are so tall,
Behind these four walls, so tall,
My body he will maul,
It has become a stall,
Where he shops for my innocence with his balls,
And what is left?

When it started I was younger,
After years you begin to wonder,
Of him I was fonder,
Before the four walls that are so tall,

I stare at the stacks of plates in the corner,
I have eaten my last supper,
Many A time I have eaten my last supper,
But it has been time since his last visit,
The last... It nearly killed me... Blood,
It has been a while since his last visit.

My spirit is on the wane,
My foot is on the waggle,
He knows me like no other should,
I know his cane like no other should.

It has been time since his last visit,
But I can tell you how meticulous he is,
No one knows,
No one hears,
Not the screams,
I guess death is an ambient sound.

It has been time since his last visit,
But I can tell you, meticulous he is,
I hear his footsteps from miles away,
Their rhythms matching my rhythms,
So I pretend to sleep... He knows sleep,
I am not it.

So he slips in me,
My mind leaves me,
He pounds my flesh,
I lay their still feeling nothing,
Soon he will get off and be off,
And I would have given my pound of flesh,

It has been time since his last visit,
But I hear footsteps from miles away,
Yet they cannot hear my screams,
Maybe death is an ambient sound,
Beyond these four walls so tall.

Kavosa Assava

Friday, 4 November 2011

To Find You

Life moves on,
Time falls with sand in the hour glass,
I lay asleep so I can go back to my dreams,
To find you,

I paint pictures of the lines around your perfect face,
Your perfect lips,
That once kissed mine,
Around your decoy eyes,
That once touched mine,
That lured my soul into that ball of fire within you,
That burned cold,
Froze my heart sold.

I go back to my dreams to find you,
But your gone,
My heart once sold is now torn,
At the silent sounds of your wind blown,
To you I am drawn,
So my trinkets I will pawn,
To the Shylock of the lovelorn,
My trifles I will trade,
To the Shylock of the lovelorn,

Maybe If I do,
He will clear the stockade between I and my love,
Maybe, If I do,
He will stomp over the evils between me and my love,

So I lay asleep.....

Kavosa Assava

Wednesday, 2 November 2011

"So Good"

Eyes,they pierce into the soul,
His...stab mine,
Hands melt skin,
His...burn mine,
I feel him breathe over my neck,
Over my neck,
Feel his chin rug, 
Sweep across my collar bone,
His mean mug,
Breathing over my neck,
Maness is what it is,
And you know...
Maybe I shouldn't...
But it feels so good.

He mowed down that girl in me,
That little fickle mess,
And me he left Woman,
That multifarious little fickle mess,
He took her apart, 
And made me Woman,
I used to scamper like mice,
form wall to wall,
But now...
Now I move like,
Speak like,
Think like A woman,
And it feels ...
So so so so so so good!

Maybe I shouldn't,
But you know...
I'm in the mood,
And I'm not afraid,
To say that I'm feelin this dude,
And I can no longer brood, 
So insistently in front of him I stood,
And said "I love You,"
Coz  I'm in the mood,
Coz I'm not afraid,
Coz I'm feelin this dude,
Coz I can no longer brood,
And just coz it feels,
So so so so so so good!

Kavosa Assava

Tuesday, 1 November 2011

Woman Utero is Us!

It is the size of a small pear,
Yet it can give you pain impossible to bare,
It can fit on the palm of your hand,
Yet create a living being who can hold the crown of this land,
One who has emerged from a birth so painful, 
To live a life so sinful,
To make a change so meaningful.

Honestly I would prefer a scrotum and all its burden,
Much prefer testosterone over the uterus that is my warden,
Coz look... I am socialized to clean, mother,submit,
My dreams I cannot meet
Because I must bare seed,
My goals I cannot reach
Because I must teach,
Satisfaction I cannot breathe
Because I must feed.

Feed those who will grow to do as they feel,
Living me behind to continue fighting
this enemy made out of steel,
It cannot break,
It is the hand of God,
Or should I say hand of Eve,Will of God,
So I must sob,
Sob over my uterus,
Sob over being a woman.

Kavosa Assava

Monday, 31 October 2011

Don't Go Far Off- Pablo Neruda

So I'm a bit late this morning but  i really want post something from this talented and highly acclaimed guy called Pablo Neruda. He is from South America, Chile I think. When he was alive he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for Literature and is Number 2 in top 500 poets. What I love about his work is that its very passionate, if he loved you, in a poem that is, he loooooveeed you! Another thing is he wrote all his poems in green ink, which happens to be my favorite color. It was his color of hope

Don't Go Far Off

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --                                              
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

Brown Eyes, Black Eyes.

Brown and Black eyes,
Spirits of dry inanimate souls,
Speak of retired hoes,
That dig no more,
Speak of dishonored bows,
That lost their arrows,
Speak of rings of fire blown,
Combusted flames of sorrow,
It is dark, no wait...It is no more.

Brown and Black eyes,
Visions of tomorrows landing,
Of a plane that never took off,
Visions of a peasants yield,
From a cow that was never milked,
Visions of prospect,
That we expect and infect
our minds with vision but...
It is dark, no wait...It is no more.

I creep into my mother's bed,
Lay where my father would lay,
he is dead...
So I place my head,
On that pillow where her tears would stain,
She opens her eyes,
Brown and Black eyes,
She wore her cloak,
That cloak you wear when you have brown and black eyes.

It is Africa,
Disease and Death is all you see
So we wear it for you to see,
Hunger and poverty is all you see,
So we wear it...
So you can feel pity and say,
"Poor Africa...Poor little dark continent,"
And our leaders laugh,
Your leaders laugh.

My mother...she said,
"My child, I have great pain,
But fear not, we will find bail,
Rest under my mane,
For your father is gone,
I am all alone,
If we have nothing, we have love,
It is a cycle,
And when you can find the point at which its circumference ends,
Then you will have known the limit of my love.

Kavosa Assava

Sunday, 30 October 2011

They Went Home- Maya Angelou

Good morning:) I think it would be nice to post work by famous poets. This poet in particular is someone I am obsessed with. I know it's a cliche to be into poetry and love Maya Angelou but I don't care:) I love how she touches on every aspect of being a woman including our sensuality. Even those who are highly conservative in culture can relate to her words.enjoy:)

They Went Home

They went home and told their wives,
that never once in all their lives,
had they known a girl like me,
But... They went home.

They said my house was licking clean,
no word I spoke was ever mean,
I had an air of mystery,
But... They went home.

My praises were on all men's lips,
they liked my smile, my wit, my hips,
they'd spend one night, or two or three.

Create Date
Saturday, June 18, 2005

God Is Love.

God is love,
I love you,
So if what i feel for you is God,
We cannot, 
We will not.

By principle,
It is simple,
I live to glorify,
So I will notify,

Just in case the message didn't get to you,
Let me teach you, 
Not please you,
Not satisfy you,
Let me elevate you.

I am on another level,
So level,
But then again,
I do not wish to surpass you,

It befits the purpose,
To act so pompous,
Like a bird spreading its tasseled feathers,
Tearing through the wind,
Only to be!

I only wish to teach you,
Not please you,
Not satisfy you,
Let me elevate you.

Make you see my Father,
The way I see my Father,
Desire my Father,
Without Him life only gets harder,
And you will only get madder,

So let me teach you,
Not please you,
Not satisfy you,
But elevate you my brother.

If when you look at me,
Bumps, humps and sex is all you see,
If raw, hot pores breathing lustful desires is all you see,
If songs of sinful wet scents is all you see,
If soft nakedness is all you see,

You and I, It cannot be,
You are not ready for me,
You are not ready...

Not ready to be welcomed into my station,
In ordinary fashion, 
You get a pen..a paper,
Take note,
This is your orientation.

One night...That night,
One bed...That bed,
We become One by That act,
One act,
But before my Father.

Let me make you see my Father,
The way  I see my Father,
Coz I Love you,
And God is Love,
So if what I feel for you is God,

We cannot,
We will not......
Not before my Father.

Kavosa Assava

Saturday, 29 October 2011

My Skin

Look at my Skin...
Skin that has been the bane of my existence since the day i was born
Born into a society where Jim Crow holds the law
predjudice is the boss
where being black is your loss
look at my skin..

See i don't remember...i don't remember the happy days
maybe coz my belly button hadn't healed yet,
and the stench of my mothers insides was my scent
and as it wore off, so did my solace
so did my hopes, my dreams, my peace
see i don't remember...

It is my skin that has been sold in chains
whipped insane
Scars that only tell a tale of pain
I am still a slave

I am in desperate search for freedom
My soul burns for freedom
my soul sings for freedom
I am still a slave

But it is my scars that make me strong
My bitterness that makes me weak
my pain that gives inspiration
my disillusionment that hinders my progression

So i shall bloom at dawn
when my seeds shall be sewn
planted in the soil as i await to be grown
and no matter what i shall not groan
It is my scars that make me strong

I am a rose
beautiful, delicate, passionate
I am a rose
don't mess with my thorns

Look at my skin black skin
Is'nt it beautiful....delicate
isn't it passionate

so come all you roses
join me all you beautiful roses
let us intertwine our thorns
and make a delicate garden
with the love we have for our skin
let us show the passion we have for freedom