I want to open this poetry page with these beautiful quotes

1. Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes. ― Joseph Roux

2. Poetry can be dangerous, especially beautiful poetry, because it gives the illusion of having had the experience without actually going through it. ― Rumi

3. Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. ― Leonard Cohen

4. Poetry is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry, prickle, be silent, makes your toe nails twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own. ― Dylan Thomas

5. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. ― Emily Dickinson

Now lets get into it.


I want you to hit me again
With your slave like hands, this time I won’t bargain
I want you to take me on that bloody train
Swing me then throw me out in the rain.Not once, not twice
You got so busy
Thinking you’d get rid of me that easy
You fist punched me in my mother’s womb,
I shouted mummy is your husband crazy
And even though your punches made me dizzy
You anxiously waited for the bloody thighs
So you could go to the bar and give your drunkard victory speech
As my mother lies in excruciating pain
And I on the southern gate of heaven, in the queue for babies who never got to be birthed.Shame on you, for I curved my tiny body in pain. I was fierce
I was never going to give you that victory speech
So when you saw no blood, you slapped hard on her tummy
I shouted help me mommy
Please fight mommy
Speak man; if you don’t love me then why you did make me
Speak man, why did you penetrate my mother’s flower
Then choose to deflower me at eleven
Speak man: I counted to seventy seven
It was seventy seven times you humped on me.
You held tight my tiny waist
Speak man, why did you use your power?
To penetrate my little flower
You leader of the tribe of cowards
First man on the line of drunkards
Known in the books of the unemployed,
Speak you mother father
See am a good girl, I called you father
Men that beat women can never be forgiven
Men that defile, rape young girls will forever have their own line on judgement day
And we your victims will sit and watch you, watch you, watch you,
skin dripping from bones
Tongues, running dry
Bones to ashes
Ashes to nothing
We will watch you



I have learn’t my lesson
Never to hold out my heart
Leave my chest hollow and open
With hands drenching in thick red lovers blood.

He doesn’t crave for such mess
And me causing a fuss
It’s only a waste of his busy time.
and even when I shout ‘FINE’
He don’t even have the energy for a verbal fight
Am like that luggage he lost , however much the airline calls ,
he wont pick it up.

My heart is now back in my chest.
Its a badly sown job
But heyyy at least am alive
And well covered for the next guy
Who wont even see the stitches.
I still have my pretty face
The body is in constant trial and error.
in and out of the gym motion
as I fight the turn ‘ to junk after breakup emotions’
But it’ll do for now
the body ,I mean
With my new self that’s cold.

I will smile
Laugh at his jokes
I will sit with him but I will be absent
Wet and folded in a towel even a microwave cannot dry.
My soul hidden down a tunnel
Covered by my plastic self.


My life is too exciting to pick up after him.
As he walks out of the house
Leaving on the floor his diapers that are cleverly marketed as checked boxers.

Sincerely, I am a non-practicing marketer but even I know
That they should call them what they really are, CHECKED DIAPERS.
They are adult babies, aren’t they?
They have egos so high, the eagles gave up competing.

Okayyy, you got me; maybe my life is not that exciting,
I eventually go round the house picking after him.
And guess what I find.
“No way he didn’t!” I shout as I stumble out to catch up with him.

Thing is they are babies but they don’t walk like babies, he is already gone.
So I sit down, seven hours on the sofa,
No house work,
I will yawn but no food will be cooked
He must explain himself
Or else no cookie.
So he better talk fast and first
after , I’ll throw my signature three minute tantrum
Then bake cookies for dinner.


Your warm breathe kisses my ears,
And ejaculates my relationship fears.
Your strokes cause my nipples to tear
And its only clear
That you speak fun into my workaholic body
As you massage my uptight mind
And Yoga your instructions
To capture my thought distractions into a bin.
Yer…haha that’s me talking like the real office person I am
And wow..thats you taking my heels off and kissing my feet.

Not having someone for a long time.
And then seeing you go that extra mile.
Makes you a man of elegant style
So I will slash these past working hour files.
Throw off my heels for the sneakers.
And join you for those September evening jogs that end with a sweaty kiss.



On Christmas I, just wanna wear

Jeans the size of a Patra

That’s my mantra

Me roaming the streets of Accra

No underwear underneath

No bra beneath

Just hair

Just jeans

Just a T-shirt.


I will sashay down the street

And I will treat

Myself to road side pineapples.

for those who will smile at me

I will share my dimples

For those who will jeer at me

I will share my pimples

Cause am a warrior girl

No humiliation form any boda guys

Nor stares from Benz guys.

Am free

Just I

My jeans the size of a Patra

And a t-shirt reading




I want to talk to women.
Women of all sizes,
Skin colours
Weave types,
Human hair
I don’t care.

I want to talk to all women.
Those with Fanta faces and coca cola legs I don’t care.

I want to talk to women
Those that rock the cat walk
The Bed room,
Lecture room,
Executive board room,
Those I care.

In each and everything we do, a man is a man.

You may be the boss in the office but at home, he is the head.
You many earn much more money than he does
But at home he is the head.
You may be addressed as, Yes madam, am sorry madam, Right aware madam,
But don’t expect the same from your man at home.
His way past that for he takes a place in your heart no subordinate,
Colleague will ever take, and each day he goes deeper and deeper.

Now you, money lover chic maybe freak.
Gal you can jump.
You jump from one man to another,
You do it with such skill it kills girl.
Why do you jump?
Is money really a bother?
You have a child, who doesn’t have a father,
But how can you know the father,
When you jump from one man to another.
Girl money comes and money goes
Unless if your dating Bill Gates
But these Kampala men that like to bet
Whatever money they get they bet
Girl, put it in your thick skull that today he has,
Tomorrow he does not
And maybe the next day he will if God so wills.
Get off your high horse,
Buying you a Samsung shouldn’t be by force.
And this business of men coming in and out,
In and out of your Muzigo,
Just cause the previous one failed to buy you a Clear Essence Kizigo,
That is so not cool Girl
These men keep on saying that you are a fool.
And that is so not cool.

Now you side dish/today is my day to be with me sort of chic.
Another girl may know that you are seeing her man
And she may choose to do nothing about it.
In fact she may know that her man meets you in peculiar places
At peculiar times
Doing peculiar things and she may still choose to do nothing about it.
Munange God said we share
Girl, Am a B*****h with a capital B.
If my man is a table and I mean a mahogany table,
And I a dish and I mean a dish from the UK,
I ought to be the only dish on that table,
These side dishes from bwaise, kalerwe, kikubo ,
Any dish that is not me,
I don’t need it on my table,
These side dishes of cabbage, kachubali ,
Don’t put on my table,
These side dishes that are put just in-case the main dish is not enough
Now why wouldn’t I be enough?
Do I look like someone that can be enough?
Girl, let me tell you a secret
He can’t handle me,
His always like ‘’ time out… no no time out no …no waaaba too much’’.
But if you still feel confident walking with your high heels in my relationship territory
I will starch your face you go not like it when am done
Girl, Get off the sexual network
Go get your man

Single lady/ SINGLE /5 YEARS
Now you single/desperate girl
I look at the list of all the qualities you’re looking for in a man
And I feel sorry for you
Unless if your waiting for a man from Mas, Venus
But these Kampala men won’t go past number three
But girl you are so judgmental
Just because his wearing flats and not moccasins
So you won’t give him your number, eh?
And by the way, flats from BATA that are on discount
That is good enough at least his not bear footed.

Like we women we like to say that we are not our hair
Some men like to say that they are not what they wear
He may look lousy but he will give you a lot of love
You will feel like your that dove
That flew out of Noah’s ark.
But that isn’t going to happen if you’re so judgmental
You see all the men around you as being beneath you
Not worthy of you,
Underneath you
So you keep on climbing the ladder
Looking for a man with higher standards like Jesus Christ.
Leaving all the men down the ladder
Looking up at you as you go
Climbing to higher heights than the MAPEERA
So they ask ‘’Where the hell are you going?’’
“We are all down here?”
Okay, when ready to come down just holla.’’
On one hand you have all the qualities you’re looking for in a man laid on your finger tips
I want you to ask yourself
What are the qualities that am looking for that I actually have?
Because you may have such low standards that even when I bend over I can’t get lower to your standards
Girl you have been so single for a long time
You have gotten such a bad attitude
You need to get laid.

Facebook haters,
twitter lovers,
Instagram addicts,
Bitches whatever.
I ain’t saying that we should be perfect
All am saying is that we should strive to be the best women we can be.
Our father in heaven expects the best from us
He knows that we have the capacity,
Ability to be the best.
When he says yes no fool can say no.
So if you’re striving to be the best at your job,
executive boardroom
Strive as well to be the best wife you can be to your husband
Strive to be the best mother you can be to your children.
The best sister to your siblings.
The best daughter to your parents.
The best child to your father in heaven.
If you’re a waitress then strive to be the best waitress you can be.
If you’re a model then strive to be the best model that you can be,
Though keep in mind that your body is the temple of the lord
Not the temple of some men that see you as flesh
When you go with them you will come crumbling down like Babylon
Tumbling down like Jack and Jill Down the hill in heels.
If you’re a house wife then strive to be the best house wife you can be.
Staying home doesn’t mean that you should put your best clothes,
Makeup in the darkest corner,
Why, Ebyo byabamla ngangenda out,
Your man comes back home
He looks at you and looks the other side.
Look good,
Look good while doing the dishes
Look good,
Look good while his around,
Even when his not around,
Cause I see your man, his full of excuses.
His walking closer to the sexual network
Murmuring to himself, that he doesn’t like the way you’re looking
Woman get your man off the sexual network.
Look good
Women Take Five
If you are a man and you know that your wife is as hot as hell.
When you ring that bell she gives you this amazing yell
You know that she would go north and south for you
East and west for you
But you treat her like shit
With her you are so vagrant
But with bu- campusers you are so extravagant
I just have one word for you: A-HOLE
And I don’t know why she’d keep giving you her P-hole
Cause if she were me, you wouldn’t even see my Mouth hole
Waama girlfriends,
Facebook haters,
twitter lovers,
bitches …WHATEVER……….
I ain’t saying that we should be perfect
All am saying is let’s strive to be the best women that we can be
Let’s be role models,
Friends and most importantly
Lovers of CHRIST.


Don’t be his mother!
He already has one.
And by the time you’re dating him
Its because she did a hell of a good job at grooming him to be that responsible, caring loving, kind man
You like calling “daddy” as you bite your lower lip.
Keep calling him ” Daddy”
But never call him “Son.”

When he says “ Come here mommy.”
Like how those Mexican guys say it.
In that deep , oh deep tone as he winks at you
Banange, help me, and don’t take the word literally.
Don’t atee – now start being his mother

This is what you’re going to do
You’re going to be his LOVER.
And make sure you do a hell of a good job.



You keep on saying that am your Ex
But we all know the truth
That am your extended family
The woman that married your brother instead
Because he was so good for you to contend

You keep on saying that am a whore
But we all know the truth
That your vocabulary is limited
To only cheap insults
So go play with the young kids
The adults are talking

You keep on saying that you know me too
But I know the truth
You can never know me the way he does in the night hour
His a beast.
And I….
I won’t be selfish
I’ll let you write the end.


 (King Edson specks from the heart to his one love Fiestas)

As she lays in a bathtub of oils

I see right through her eyes

Such softness, tenderness.

Her eyes tell of a history

From the peasant who bore her

To the lily she grew.

Her hands lead me to the future

An image of her besides me

How am captivated

And yes motivated.

Her beauty is of no other woman.

For I have my doubts if she’s just an ordinary woman.

I have fought in cold wars.

Walked through world wars.

Terror is new not to my eyes

For I cut off my enemy’s heads.

I have conquered, massacred, abducted

The titans, enemies from the east.

But I still feel weak.

I have been called master

Leader of the victory army

I have been made king

Yet you bow not for me

They have kissed my feet

Sparked my swords

Cleared my Amor

Yet you do nothing for me.

Which creature are you?

From where do you hail?

Thy looks like ours but not thy lips, thy eyes

They captivate me like posion ivy

They control me like I was a little lad

What is it that you want?

Here’s my sword

Used by my great grand fathers

Smelted from the great city of zion

From the fires of flohorn

Use it ,take my life

Finish me off

Or you could lie your hips next to me, Felistas

Allow me steal a kiss on your neck

For you spackle brighter than fine wine

Kept in the cellars for years

Let me touch your breasts

Permit me feel there weight

For there’re more precious than diamonds, pearls

Than the fools I’ve killed

Felistas engage my body in intercourse

I order you to lay with me

Let our bodies touch

Let’s exchange heat

Heat aiming for sweat

How so sweet to be in love

And yet so painful

For you reject me Fiestas,





You cannot compete with a white man
For a black woman
Who considers color.
She is not a racist
But a thorough chemist
Who compares, calculates, dissects
Every aspect of the two men
And so far, she enjoys the white of the coconut.

She goes to swimming pools and parks
To stare at half caste children of other couples.
She looks at the mothers of those children
And frowns, “He would have done better.”
And even when her boyfriend leaves his wallet with her
With the simple instruction “eat whatever you want.”
She only thinks “his trying too hard.”

Be it a sunny day,
Rainy day,
She will choose the old hairy white pensioner
Over the eight pack black hunk.
She wants to know what winter feels like
What snow looks like.

Be it an earthquake day
Tsunami day
End of the world day
We know her choice too well.

Even though she met a broke white guy
She wouldn’t believe his broke
She would simply think his testing her
Pretending to be broke
To detect whether she loves money.

I tell you
Even though in her sleep, Jesus sent Angel Gabriel with the instructions of,
“Get up and flee from that man, go west, far left you will meet you future husband
A black man that will love and take care of you.”
She would awake from that dream, shouting
“ Satani nvanko , I cancel that bad dream, Satani Nvaako.”
She’s simply weak that way.

So for now her current boyfriend, a black hardworking guy
Will stop asking himself why,
Why doesn’t she appreciate me?
What does she see in white guys?
He will instead do whatever he can to win her completely
He will try every trick
Ask for every advice
He will be the best guy he can be for her
But I know too well, how this poem unfolds
How it ends



My soul watches you fighting for my belongings,

Even before my body turns cold

It sees you cry with one eye closed

As the other is open ,eyeing the sauce pan of porridge.


the bible talks of you,


Putting on my grave cheap flowers

Wont they rot faster than my body

Is the color of the petals a mimic of my ashen skin

Don’t bother making my casket pretty on the top

I really don’t care for fake beauty.

My soul watches you gossip about my will

who will inherit my land

wear my clothes,sell my suitcase of heels

But if I were you, I would gossip very little

For you have no share on my property

My soul has hears you

But it will make no threats

I will wait for your turn

So just go ahead

eye that porridge on the charcoal

Fight for the legs of the cow

Fall in the sauce pan of pilau

Not long you will join me here

And its only fools that ask where?



The part that I love the most on you baby girl, are your buttocks

Cause nothing shapes a woman more than her buttocks

Not bottom, bottom………… limits my imagination

For am a man of description

You go call me whatever you want

Obsessed, possessed but baby girl

Am obsessed about you

For your like tequila and sex on the beach cocktails down my esophagus

You see, you’re a true representation

Of trending fashion

That’s my perception

From now on, if you want to attend any occasion

Am VIP you will not need to queue at the reception

Am willing to fulfill your every expectation

Do you want further education?

Do you want a birthday celebration?

Now that is my total dedication

You see am a banker by designation

I also host a political show on nation television

Am willing to fulfill your every expectation

But on only one condition

Come……….. Come………………

I want to take you to my Muyenga mansion

Where you will lay back on my expensive Dubai cushion

And show me that dimension

That dimension that go make me have a hard erection

An erection that go opt for a straight penetration


You do not have to worry about any interruption

My wife says in the Na-guru Mansion


You do not have to worry about any Prevention

I passed through circumcision, am VIP I get HIV/AIDS immunization

Now why are you still worried?

Are you in your menstruation?

OH its conception

You’re worried about conception,

But I thought you’re on an injection

Even though you’re not on an injection

We shall not have pregnancy prevention

In case of conception

You will become my wife to stay in this Muyenga mansion

But you see, I don’t want your concentration to be on the dangers of


I don’t want you to think that sleeping with a married man is an


I need sexual satisfaction……………………………………

I don’t want you to lay like a log

Like firewood in transportation

I need sexual participation

If you fulfill my one condition

I may even take take you to Mombasa for a vacation

In short,

In brief,

In conclusion,

Come……… come……..

I want to take you to a private place

Where you go show me your private parts and I go give you money

(And the next moiring it was my turn to talk)

(pretty lady)

Did you enjoy?

Did you enjoy my spectacular curves?

Did you enjoy my HIV positive flesh?

Ah aha ha big daddy, do not worry

The positiveness is mostly in the blood

My flesh is negative

Ah aha aha ARV’s are free; I get them free from the hospital

What! What! What are you complaining about?

Do you think you will be the first one to have HIV?

Or do you think you will the last?

My dear, every day a stupid woman and man like you

Forget about all the advice they have gotten about HIV

They forget about ABC they opt for IGL……. I GO LIVE

Now why are you blaming?

While in club silk, were you drunk, yes!

While in your automobile, did you talk about an HIV test, NO!

While you were driving, didn’t you pass by a billboard saying get off

the sexual network, you did

And while you continued to drive, did you pass by Oasis to buy


Or did we buy them from Nakumatt?

We did not buy condoms

So why are you blaming me

Even when I gave you my rough rider, my rubber,

You threw it back to me and said

‘’Give that rubber to Rabadaba

For me I go live

I do it live

As live as an Umeme wire’’

So why are you haywire?

Next time do not let your eyes do the work of a microscope,

Do not look at some body and conclude they are HIV negative

You will be in for a disappointment

Next time, use a condom

Or even you should be faithful to your wife

I will not advise you to abstain

I wouldn’t want your wife to complain

You took me to a private place

And I showed you my private parts

And I did not only stop at showing you

You know what we did

So give me my moneyooooooooooooo

I want to go.


My closet is defined by colour, style, boldness

My fashion makes sense

And that gives me confidence

My closet responds to the weather

To all the seasons that change

It has knowledge of the trends but not your negative critique

That’s why to it you don’t exist

What I wear cause of the kampala heat

Has you jeering in such an imperfect beat

You look at me like my clothes don’t fit

And I start to doubt if it’s my clothes that I should quit

What is it about me

That gives you sleepless nights

Do I really make you want to fight

Do I tickle your fancy?

Or do I make you say I wish

I have come to see that

You judging me,

Concluding my future

Questioning my decisions

Has nothing to do with the cut of my blouse

The slit on my skirt

The jeans round my waist

It’s you

Not liking your self

Not liking the fat round your waist

Its only you that can you the best

My closet is defined by colour, style , boldness

I wear clothes from all over

Those that make me feel good,

Look good

My closet is not a racist

It’s way too feminist


My style is mixed

It’s a CD playing the 80’s RNB, soul classic grooves

My style is rich

It’s raising your head above your shoulders

Standing confident in a lukumi blouse

Because my style knows

That no o one can know unless you tell them

No one walks with the price tags above their collar

It don’t matter if it cost shillings or dollars

My style does not look at other styles

It seeks to know but not follow

It seeks to dress in that that does not stress me

My style blends colours

It blends fabrics

It’s asking, where did you buy that

It’s saying I like the way you blend that kitege with that satin

And am certain that my style defines me

It’s mixed

And if that puts you in such a fix

Then all I can is sister,

Thanks for letting me know that

Am trending.



His Kidney is on a plane to Europe

And it won’t be coming back

What he has left is a scar

That folds when he seats in his new car.

legal, illegal

everyone’s always looking to trade.

Her hair is on a ship to Africa

and she will be sending more

they’ll cut it as bangs

hold it as pony tails

make all the styles

she wasn’t ever confident to wear

legal, illegal

everyone’s always looking to trade.

The internet has made the world a small global market

with just a click, you can buy yourself some sperm

some breast milk, for the crying baby to be calm

just cause you’re not buying, don’t mean they’re not selling

just cause they’re not selling publicly

don’t mean they not selling online

dont mean


everyone’s continuing to trade.

There are some buyers that are too busy to meet sellers

There are those, constantly looking to meet with sellers

then others that are too sacred to meet, even behind closed doors

legal, illegal

everyone’s continues to trade

And then the middlemen, who some are cheats

they measure your level of poverty

to your level of desperacy

they will bounce you around like basketballs

kick you around like footballs

then swing you away like a golf ball

legal, illegal

it’s the sellers that are paying the price

Then some middle men are honest

if it doesn’t work, bring it back

if it doesn’t fit, bring it back

but his kidney is not coming back

his heart now beats in another’s chest

and he didn’t consent

its the gangs to whom money was sent

legal, illegal

everyone’s continuing to trade

and that should change

When a wealthy man’s heart starts to fail

with his name printed way below the donor list

his conscious be come’s that of a beast

and he’ll pay any price to live

legal, illegal

everyones’ continuing to trade

so my brother, my sister

have you verified that scholarship

does it really exist

do you trust the stranger that wants to take you over seas

they’ll lure you in any way

are you that desperate

that hopeless

cause legal,illegal

everyone’s continue to trade

in something

in someone

let it not be you.