Lesson Learned

(LOUD ULULATION)

Ululations echo, resonating within my soul

My heartbeat in sync with the hole in my sock

The result of the grating of gravel and toil

A plight that resembles extraction of oil

Boil! Boil! toil and trouble

I struggle to be set apart from the rubble

Defined by the coulour of my skin as charcoal or oil spill or ink from a pen

In Africa lies my heart but not my head

Engrained in me as the red that courses through my veins

I’m insane in the membrane with these voices in my head

Of ancestors long gone who live on inside

Who teach me and raise me and patiently bide

Passing on wisdom through those alive and passed on

Like my dear Uncle Bukenya and this is his song:

Uncle Bukenya was driving back from the village, weary

It was late and his eyes were bleary

Blinking, blinking he kept his eyes on the dreary road

As the load of stress slipped of his shoulders and was lifted by the breeze

SIGH

Glancing over to the side of the road, he noticed a beautiful lady

She caught his eye, with her shapely thighs and he pulled over his Mercedes

Leaning over he grinned and asked her if she wanted a ride

She graciously accepted and climbed in, putting her feet to the side

Uncle Bukenya drove, conversed as his eyes caressed her

Enraptured by her beauty and with his eyes undressing her

He licked his lips and imagined what he would do to her

Time passed and Uncle Bukenya noticed she covered her legs

He asked her of it and the topic was changed

But curiosity was in his mind engrained

Uncle Bukenyaya got fed up and pulled up her skirt

He froze.

HOOVES! HOOVES! HOOVES!

SHE HAD HOOVES!

He stopped the car and threw her out

And since that day you can hear him shout 

MUGABI EVERY TIME YOU SEE A PRETTY LADY

MAKE SURE TO LOOK AT HER FEET

R.I.P

Tears caress my cheek

As they tell me not to be meek
Be strong! Be strong!
You’ve got to carry on!
But I don’t want to carry on if carrying on means a mask must be worn

If not displaying emotions is strength, then WHY does it feel so wrong?
WHY?
Do I feel like I do not know what to do and feel

WHY?

Am I overanalyzing, is this really real?

This superficialness is simply the first stage of grief

Negativity has me feeling like Chief Keef

I DON’T LIKE! I DON’T LIKE!

Wipe the tears from my eyes, because as a man I should not cry

Societal expectations with no explanation are leaving me dry

Be strong for others, they say

BUT no one clarifies what this entails

WHY?

Do other people keep on telling me what I should do?
WHY?

Do they tell me to let it out for that decision they will rue!

There is an uncontrollable ball of rage inside of me

Digesting my intestines, if released a pretty sight you will not see!

So STOP telling me how I should feel

STOP telling me how I should heal

STOP telling me how I should deal

With my issues, walk a mile in my shoes

And you will quickly learn

That I have no idea why I feel the way I feel

I have no idea what is real and what is real

I thought time heals all but these emotions cannot be vanquished

WHY do you get to Rest in Peace?

While I’m Alive in Anguish…

So time goes on

And they say time heals all

But time merely marked the passage

Of emotional baggage

Transforming into a package

Making me a savage, cabbage, multilayered average carriage of damage

My soul was hemorrhaged

With the knowledge of death

A privilege and a curse

As I attempt to salvage the innocence I had left

People started dropping like flies around me!

The first was the catalyst for death to start surrounding!

Fear gripped me

For I could cry for none but the first

Was HE the most important or could it be worse?

Could I finally be becoming numb to the pain?

Fain feelings to gain normalcy, incapable of hurt like the Jain

Sorrow coursing through my veins

Never wane

Only thing keeping me sane
Is that you did not die in vain

For it taught me

Shy away from mediocrity

Life is TOO SHORT to not be the best that you can be

An obsession with death cultivated to a celebration of life

Focus on strife

Made me realize you only live twice

Death when your heart stops beating

Death when your name is uttered for the last time

Live on  

   

Draking

We’re lying side by side…

Yet I’ve never felt more distant
I’ve been Draking, I’ve been Draking
Watching the rise and fall of your chest as your breasts caress my palms
I’ve been Draking, I’ve been Draking

Thought you were different
Or maybe I thought I was the one who would be different
In this situation
Jealousy stoking my frustrations
Got me waiting
For you to mess up so I can have something to blame you for!

And it finally came

A rush of glee raced through me
Anger pervaded me
How could this be?
But I wasn’t thinking logically
Deep down inside I knew that you had no wrong
No need to ring the alarm
I was looking for excuses
Blinded by delusions
Of what we ought to be
But how can there be a we without you and me?
So how could I even think of the possibility of W-E
If my thoughts are only M-E
Selfishly forgetting why I’m called Mugabi (Why I’m called Mugabi)

You always said I have a way with words
But if I truly had a way with words
Then these words would be hurled  

Towards you

Instead of me ineffectually

Writing these rhymes in a bid to understand me

I can’t even understand me
Who am I really?

Who should I be?

The thing is

I always wholeheartedly

Believed

Every word of yours

Never saw the metaphors

Still I started doubting

And clout filled me mind

Wondering where the truth lied

Were these sweet nothings being whispered into my ear?
Or was the truth simply too much to bear? (Was the truth simply too much to bear?)

We’re lying side by side

Yet I’ve never felt closer?

I’ve been Draking? I’ve Been Draking?
This isn’t supposed to happen

I thought lying next to someone and not speaking
Was for a reason
And that reason

Was to drive the wedge between our hearts

As far apart

As our body parts

When did this start?

Intro -> Heat of the moment, overreacting before processing my emotions, internal ocean, tidal wave, seismic explosion into

Stanza 1 -> Admitting to my own faults and selfish tendencies, limiting my capabilities, of seeing things, green with envy, red with rage, brown ablaze, muddled  up like

Stanza 2 -> Truth is in

Stanza 3 -> I care for you and I love you.     

Sisimuka (Rise Up)

*snaps*

So Mugabe, do you just wear normal clothes in public to fit in?

But when you go back home dance around a fire naked encased in original sin?
SIGH

Our consciousness needs to…

(RISE UP!)

Mugaby, since you’re from Africa, have you ever pet a lion?

I’m so glad that you escaped Uganda, I heard people are dying

Child soldiers on the rampage, bullets and bombs flying

Wait a second… Your people use bullets and bombs?
I thought they used sticks and spears, marching onwards on the road to zion

Were you a child soldier? Have you ever killed someone while crying?

STOP with the ignorant questions please, our knowledge needs to…
(RISE UP!)

Mugatu…Mugali…It’s Mugabi! Pronounce my damn name right or at least try
Stop saying whatever every time you stumble across something that you can’t pronounce
Like you can’t do, what I have to do

Since my culture does not rule, over you
Cultural hegemony is not cool

So why won’t you?
(RISE UP!)

Rise up all of you!
This is not a critique on those outside the continent

For within the continent there are those who are incontinent

Those who consciously choose to forget our own past

What will come of the day when I can ask

What our traditional religions are without being put on blast?

Labelled satanic, a devil worshipper
For curiosity into the Gods of my ancestors

My forefathers look down shaking their heads

Thinking to themselves

How can they demonize their own culture
To accept that of foreign vultures as their own

It is not right

Cutting yourself off from your unborn
Internally torn from your own culture
Why can’t we??
(RISE UP!)  

 And by we I mean humanity
The seduction of inadequacy
Ignorance blinds we

With no Stevie Wonder enlightenment

And yet…

Hope glistens with sparkling clarity

For a continent formerly known as dark, we do have a lot of light

A lot of bright
Minds, eyes, thighs (smile) and smiles
We never stopped smiling

A 6 day visit to a rural African village completely changes a woman’s Facebook profile picture

Still smiling… (smile)
For we have soooo much history
No scratch that. His and her story
Technology, philosophy, ideology
So we continue to
(RISE UP!!)

From the Ancient city of Timbuktu to Kigali’s pristine streets
We are the cradle of humanity
And we’re only moving forward
Our potential is our actuality
As the Great Mugabi, once said
“Be who you want to be, not who you are”
(RISE UP!!!)

Kmao

(High pitched Shriek)
She grips her shirt, eyes dilate
Backward steps as she contemplates her fate
She blinks, cannot believe her own eyes
The devil is nigh
Towering over her 6 foot two
Gargantuan, charcoal skinned, unkempt luring her in with his…smile
That evil grin and soft words barely distinguishable over the din
Of her heart racing, as she contemplates her sins
And asks for forgiveness, she’s too young too die!
So she turns tail and runs, screaming loud
KMAO! KMAO!
A tear caresses my brothers cheek
This is not what he expected stopping at the gas station for a bite to eat
Why was the little girl so frightened?
Why did she look she’d seen death? Her eyes whitened, her chest tightened
All he had done was smile, and say hi this made no sense
He’d been practicing his Khmer… this made no sense
What about him could induce such fear… this made no sense
What differentiated him from the taxi man down the road… this made no sense
Kmao Kmao…This made no sense
Flipping channels, bored to death
Stumble across a local Cambodian TV show, with black people? PAUSE
Wait a second.. no. Those aren’t black people
They are Cambodians painted black, that’s rather rude
Why are they… wait a second those aren’t people,  those are demons, that’s rather crude
The scared villagers… running away from the demons and the one thing they have to say is:
Kmao Kmao
Is it racism? Or is it ignorance?
Does my brother have any justification at getting angry at the little girl, or should he be angry at her parent’s negligence?
Should he be angered by the culture which demonizes the coulour black and everything associated with it?
Angry at being seen at the devil all because of a simple pigment?
Angry that everywhere we go one word always follows us
A mantra in the background, a chorus haunting us
Kmao Kmao
Angry that we will always be labeled and singled out for something we cannot control
Or angry that Kmao in English is black
   

Fortress of Solitude

Why does Kal-El seek out solitude?
Ironically coming from one with a lone wolf aptitude
Kal-El is superior. TRUTH, with no attitude
I guess the truth is I'm sick and tired of platitudes
I HATE the use of sarcasm as a barrier between two souls
I despise small talk and fulfilling conversational roles
I want to go off on tangents and talk about anything and everything
I LOVE listening, feed my aural orifice it needs lathering
Of earnest diction penetrating my ear drums and setting a blaze to my mind
SIGH..."Pleasant weather we're having"
Small talk is demon-spawn, purposeless, what happened to depth?
What happened to being comfortable sitting in silence, gathering your thoughts without vocally puncturing the air with your breath?
SIGH... "How are you?"
"Fine! Good! Alright! I'm not surprised!"
We ask the same questions over & over again why not open your eyes?
All three of them! Open yourself up to oil those mental cogs
Without the need of a social lubricant because I am SICK of going to the bars!
Sick of people needing a shot of liquid confidence
My conscience points the finger back at me
You play the game too your eminence 
I do, I do, I do
It's true, It's true, It's true
What right do I have to accuse if I'm guilty as charged?
I play the game because it takes two to tango, leaving myself intellectually parched  
If I stopped it would be awkward
But...I am awkward
And in this day and age, it's cool to be awkward  
I guess I've ran out of excuses
It is easier to conform than to act in the face of fear
Easier still to privately criticize but in public say deuces
To my opinions and individuality, unless I have a beer
I guess I have to face the truth
Either I have to change
Or...
Or...
I'm deranged? 

Screw all this existentialist brooding in my polo
The meaning to life is simple: YOLO

Wallflower III

I should talk more
I really am a bore, sometimes
Never choose conversation over writing rhymes
Or getting to know someone over old times
Its a sigh and a pity
To deal with it, I make it sound witty, make it sound pretty
Doll it up like Hello Kitty
Like the itsy bitsy spider, I'm a fighter
Encased in this shell
Padded with excuses, stay maintained like A Dell
Why can't anyone else tell?
I mean well
All I need is a Keenan to my Kel and a large attendance when the bell knells
Reach out to me...
My mental plane hovers
I talk to myself more than I talk to others
Wear a mask of masculinity around my brothers
Split in two roles yet whole, am I my mother?
Am I my mother?
Am I my mother??

Wallflower II

I savor my words, a connoisseur of diction
What is the point in discussing purposeless matters of fiction?
My way with words cannot be bandied about, purpose behind diction
Cold cuts of words, no gout. No doubt, in my mind
That what I speak is the truth
Confident in my insecurities to let loose and release
A verbal barrage of lyrical imperfection
Mental projection
Manifestation of my destiny
Can't you see?
Big words and speaking fast makes me think I sound smart
Impressing others secondary to creating art
What is art?

Created for the recognition and appraisal of others
The only accurate depiction of lovers
Justification for men moving back in with their mothers
Helps your eyes roll back when you're under the covers
So I talk to myself and I talk to others   

Wallflower

They said I should talk more
What a bore
With the courtesy of an itchy sore
Festering, brooding, puss squeezing out the door of my mind
For one does not simply walk into Mordor!
Please, please, please sir may we have some more?