A Supplication.

I’ve just learned a new word as I was looking for the definition of prayer. Supplication; a prayer asking God’s help as part of a religious service; invocation.

…and hereby hangs a tale. It was in a saffron colored room when I experienced perhaps the single most frustrating moment in my life, perhaps not. So frustrating that I felt I might bleed from my ears and from my eyes and from my nose.

A few moments before this experience, I had made an invocation. During this time, I knew not the difference between a want and a need, especially where God is concerned.

…and so I began. By so doing, I believed, or rather did what it is I thought believing was.

The stillness in this room was ice cold and perhaps I could feel Death’s presence as he majestically strolled to every corner touching the walls with his scythe turning them to ice.

This room was so loud with silence and it sucked big time because I couldn’t explain what it is this was. I sat up on the bed and the only explanation I could master was that the room was smeared with ungodliness and that is why it was so deathly quiet and devoid of feel. So I stopped.

It has been several months now. Last week, I came across a bookmark I got about ten years ago. Years before the Supplication. Years when I used the bookmark for its intentions never ever noticing the words, “Listen to the sound of silence, and in it, hear God’s voice” written on it.


Colors of The Wind.

I lost myself,
Trying to find you.

I lost time,
Trying to redeem myself to you.

I lost you,
To the ground,
Under the black eyed Susans.
They always were your favourite.

Time sipped through my fingers,
As if sand through the camel’s hoof.

I’ve tried to forget the scent,
The custard apple tree’s scent…
I can’t.

See, when the wind took you,
The custard apples fell from the tree,
At the rhythm of my heart,
Tearing through their protuberance,
Fluid sipping to the ground.
The same way color drained from body,
And to the wind it went as well.
Now all I see is a rainbow I will never relate to.

…and perhaps I’m dying a little each day,
Because the brilliant yellow color on the Black Eyed Susans in bloom looks like the icky yellow color of vomit.
…and perhaps I’ve stopped living,
Because the sweet pungent scent on the custard apples in bloom feels like the foot of death is on my chest stomping me down to the ground.

Everything goes still,
In all shades of grey and of white.
Everything goes still.

The Wanderer.

As the wind hopscotched around my branches, he stopped to listen to the sound my leaves made.

He looked up at me as the after rain glistening sun turned those glassy water drops on my petals rosy.

I swished with mirth and the droplets fell to his eyes; falling honey stars from my heart.

He smiled, that beautiful lopsided smile.

He could see me.

Within Us.

The answers to all those questions we want so bad to have answers lie within us. Not our friends, not our families, not our surroundings, but us. Our problem is that, because we are underlings, we let our erroneous ways that is impatience get to us and we forget to listen to the Spirit in us; we shut down the guidance the Spirit provides for us by rushing to a friend for a solution.

Unakimbia kwa mwenzako kutafuta jibu unasahau kuwa Rabana ndiye mwenye majibu yote, mwenzako atakuwa na jibu vipi? Your friend, especially the one you choose to run to, will give you the answer you want to hear; after all, deep down you know that probably that’s why you went to them, not because they are always right.

Remember, the answers you need are with you through God, the same way your friends’ answers lie within them through God. There is no way God has told your friend, “Here child, hold your friends’ answers as well within you for when they come to you.”

…and because answers lie within you and you choose to believe that, you will never go looking. I.e: When God chooses a friend to bring you a solution, the friend will come to you. Not the other way around.

Stop trusting in mere humans, who have but a breath in their nostrils. Why hold them in esteem? (Isaiah 2:22).

A Lesson From Florence.

Florence does not expect anything to be done by her children for it is not a child’s duty to do any chores. A child is born as a gift to the parent from God. A gift, not a labourer.

Raise your children to know and understand the difference between will and must; that they are not indebted to you to be doing anything around the house, that when they choose to, it is by will and when they choose to, appreciate them, say “thank you child for cooking…Thank you child for washing the dishes…cleaning the house, sweeping the compound.”

Expectation leads to lack of appreciation because you feel it is a person’s obligation to be doing what they are doing; what they always do, in that case, when they don’t, all you see is an erroneous way which is followed up by disappointment. This shouldn’t be the way of life.

God remains unchanging for He does not go about expecting us to be a certain way.

Look at God.

I heard the voice of man brabble in vain silence of how to believe, he had to see. See the presence of God broadcasted in all of social media for all the arcadians and all the barbarians to see in order to believe, He is real.

Even if that was possible, man would find a way to mock and shun. Spread hearsay that it is photo shop. Because, more than anything, man is afraid of the unknown, the unexplainable, the enigma.

Man will breath, wake up, eat, talk, text…and because it comes so naturally, man will feel deserving of such actions, feel entitled that he will forget and if challenged a little he shall refer you to anatomy because science explains everything. Forgetting that God created that who ventured into anatomy. God is anatomy.


When he was tiny and young, once upon a time, Wind would seat in between me and Ice always, during car pools. For as protective as we are, we wouldn’t want his small self floating away into oblivion…or out through the front view window of the vehicle.

Now, because siblings like to prove nature wrong about height when it comes to being the first born, Wind’s gorgeous height doesn’t allow him to sit in the middle seat anymore, otherwise, how will the driver see behind? Ice can’t sit in the middle seat either…her height follows close to that of Wind. That leaves Fire. Don’t make me say it.