Wyclif M. Musau

The Late Night Ritual

It’s a night out for the male members of our great tribe, Akamba,
We whirled up the village mountain with a male species of the Boer goat,
The elders are infront of us, holding their spears with a can of fire hanging on the fingers,
It’s time to face the supreme being that liveth on the high places, god of the mountains,

I Still Love You Tania

You always kept away your phone, just to listen to my hilarious stories,
Something that every man with perfect levels of testosterone would treasure for ages,
I salute you ma’am, you’re still the woman of my dreams,
You voice was from a planet not yet known by human understanding,

Please Come Back, We Miss You

It’s barely a month since you left us on our own, with my daughter,
You made the decision when you found out that my ex paid me a visit at work,
I wanted to explain the whole drama but you said i was capable of man slaughter,
You gave up on us when we needed you most madam clerk,

Woman of My Dreams

She was breathtaking like the early morning sun, a brunette,
Her eyes were glowing vividly like a burning candle,
I stood there holding my helmet, restless like a smoker who had lost his cigarette,
I speechlessly watched her beauteous self walk past me, she was so admirable!

Happy Father’s Day, Dad

Your altruistic nature made it easier for boys to settle around you,
Due to your mastery of the Queen’s language, they nicknamed you Professor grammar,
You’ve never raised a hand against my mother, not even a rod of bamboo,
Since i was a small boy I’ve never seen you lock any door with a clamour,

Out of The Fiery Furnace

A story is told of the three Hebrew exiles, in a city far away,
Under a barbarian king who ruled over a certain city in Asia,
A king whose claws grew tougher surpassing the domestic Bombay,
Commanding a country in the suburbs of Northern Assyria,

Midnight Meditation

It’s just thirty one minutes past midnight,
I’m lying on my wooden bed holding my sleek black phone,
My eyes are sagging, almost giving up to sleep,
But i remember i have to baby sit my growing infant (my blog),

Growing Up In Africa

Contrary to the African traditions, my mother taught me how to cook,
Mama would come home carrying cassava roots in a basket,
That’s the moment i would start lighting up the fire,
Since I knew it was my turn to come up with a good recipe, the family was eagerly waiting,

The Mysterious Well

Long time ago when i was a kid, i used to fear going alone to the village well,
Dreadful stories that were told about that well, scared the hell out my nerves,
There was once a woman who went to fetch water late in the midnight,
As she neared the well, she could hear clangorous cries of small babies,

Away From Home

Take me to the banks of Luangwa river, i want to bond with the crocodiles,
Let me lie down on the soft grass, and watch the sun as it illuminates the world,
Allow me to observe the hippos as they graze, are they jews or gentiles?
Let me listen to the gushing sound of water as it navigates to the oceans, curled,

Little Strings of Poetry

Author: Wyclif M. Musau