Thursday, 31 August 2017


through this great divide paddle
swim through asinine reviews
hold your breath
through walls of conjecture
be heard

Sunday, 27 August 2017


Harsh lights glare
Like an angry multitude
the distance helps
diffuse their anger
the shy stars.
Cold blasts dig deep
into my supple skin
and you hold my hand
serving me the cuisine of your
Up Up Up
on the balcony
where the city noise
with each word you speak
your chest reverberating
through the small of my back
as you serve me
the cuisine of your warmth
Up Up Up
as the world passes below
a drunk conductor getting the fares all wrong
an old PA system blasting out tasteless songs
officers matching in a single file
though no one is crying war or foul
for now your arms are a welcome prison
Up Up Up.
as I meet your incarcerating gaze
harsh lights glaring.

Friday, 25 August 2017

Jungle Sounds by Susan Kiguli

In seasons when
The grass trembles with thirst
And trees crackle
Under the ruthless furnace;
Farmers rejoice at a lone feathery cloud
A false promise of rain:
Thus we stand in arid deserts
Clinging desperately to fallacies
Refusing to believe...
Justice is not here with us.
At the festivities of your adversaries
Your absence cuts through our unaneasthetised flesh
Keen as a surgeon's knife.
Searing pain numbs our hearts
Leaving them limp lumps.
Your absence is a warrior's sword
A silver dagger in a foe's hand
Cutting down the sons and daughters of the land.
In your continued dearth
We are cowardly hyenas,
Running away from jungle sounds
Soiling our legs
Seized by desperate madness.
You, mirage of our lives
We pant after your shadow
Like thirsty desert Tuaregs
Our shrunken tongues
Cannot even croak your name.

Let the seasons go on holiday
Let there be a sun-moon battle
Forcing curfew on night and day
We rather the earth stood on tip-toe
Than smell the aroma of justice
Wafting to us always from afar

If The End Was The Beginning

In tandem with fading innocence
The years swing by
A tooth falls out  here,a tooth is lost there
Living becomes a simmering Death
My back welcoming it
An inch lower every year
Till sticks which used to burn in the hearth
Of my glory days
Turn into crutches faithfully supporting
My frame
I feign forgetfulness
But my mind is fooled not
Would my ebon shimmer
My hips sway with every step?
Would these young men
Who rush to give me way
Pray to have their way?
If the end was the beginning

how young would I be?