He Whose Name Should Not Be Mentioned

I couldn’t let my eyes off this…

En Route Life

January has a reputation. Think depleted accounts, a hundred and thirteen unread emails and sun rash from the country side visits. Unrivaled reputation. Well, almost unrivaled, because Kassim, a distant uncle is the king of reputation. Kassim has no academic qualification, none whatsoever. He does not own much. He sports dangerous streaks of thick dread-locked hair whisked painfully in a dirty head band.  Code: red-green-white. Haile Selassie, by our ancestors, you owe us! Now you wonder how a good for nothing man that I have just described would fancy your reading time.

Kassim had victims. So many in fact that you may want to go ahead and read in case I mention your own sister here. But Kassim is not his name. I do not in truth, know his name. He went by so many aliases, that he’s best, He Whose Name Should Not Be Mentioned. So tiring. He…

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Can’t Logout, Won’t Logout

I loved this…

En Route Life

My name is Ricko and I am an internet addict. I break as if to let them mark my name on a google sheet. I rub that off my mind – perhaps these people use some foolscap. I wonder if I can spell it right. I should remember to look it up on Answers.Com tonight. Fullscap. Foolscap. It’s one of those, I know for sure. They are staring. I don’t like staring. I don’t even like eyes. I feel a thin line of sweat trickle down my midrib.

I adjust my large-rimmed glasses. My hands are shaking, I notice. I notice something else too – the skinny kid by the corner is staring at my fingers. I fumble- dammit – I fumble some more. He thinks I am fat. I am only a little on the heavy side. I promise I will exercise when I get time off developing that…

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Sodom and Nairobi West

Good read…

En Route Life

My stay in Nairobi has become quite the misery since I moved westwards. The usual suspect problems of traffic jam and pick-pocketing would have bothered me, ordinarily, but not in this case. I am battling greater wars. So great in fact that I believe my lungs are on the verge of a breakdown. You may think I exaggerate.

You imagine this. That a bunch of unruly, middle class Kenyans, day in day out, choose to pitch camp in the stuffy and suffocating space of their four by four wheels (usually overly pimped Subarus) in what I never quite understand. I do not understand, but I do imagine. With suspicious white fuzzy smoke letting off the mysteriously dark windows, a reflection of expensive gadgets far and wide revealing against the tints, you will let your thoughts wonder too. That is not all that happens therein. The ensemble goes almost complete with…

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The Unknown


As I pen this I stand in the unknown
Of whether in this world I’m alone
Or maybe there’s a clone
A clone to whom I’m unknown
A clone like me, all -grown
Why I say this you may ask
Well, that I don’t know…
But nine years ago,
Along the Eastern Shore,
I met a strange old Crow
Who said she had seen me the day before
Along the Eastern Shore
But Lo and Behold!
I had never been to the Eastern Shore before!
‘Come on Crow, tell me more! ‘
‘Follow me and you I will show…’
And so I followed the Crow
Along the Eastern Shore
And Lo and Behold!
I met one of my own, all -grown!
His name was John
From Sierra Leone
He resembled me down to the bone
And that to me, was quite a blow

But ladies and gentlemen
The ending to this, unfortunately, I don’t know
For up to date it still stands unknown
Of who between me and John
Was The Clone

Only When We Are Outside

chester maynes

Only when we are outside
that we begin to understand
how seeing is knowing
the best things we have.

Only when we are outside
that we start to ponder
the limitless road of
this world we travel.

Only when we are outside
that we discover hundred
little and big details
that we cannot see inside.

Only when we are outside
that we run together and
the freedom is in our hands.
We beget and we create.


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chester maynes

I bring myself home
from a place where
solitude is a friend.

I fade myself from
the usual crowd that
I used to know.

I cringe on my
bed when thoughts
desolate my mind.

I pick some stones
and throw them in
the water.

I shut my mouth
from telling stories
of my ghosts.

I rattle my walls
that disturb my

I contemplate with
gusto until my guts
tell me to stop.

I close my door
while listening to
myself loud enough.

I write and write
what I feel and
I never lie.


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…The Girl In The Silent Sea…

So the other day I was experimenting with short verse…
Well, this was one of the offsprings!

              The Girl In The Silent Sea


...Into The Silent Sea...

I recall that rowdy rough night
That sad sinister senile night
That dungeon-dark night
When she shoved and shut the door on me
And into the beastly blowing breeze, she dived into the silent sea…

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