Author: Wyclif M. Musau

Journalist| YouTuber| Creative Writer| Online Content Creator| Africa's King of Narrative Poetry| Alumni of Kenya Institute of Mass Communication]

Dear Mama😥

How did you cope with my clamorous, high-pitched cry? When i came out cold like an ice cube in a refrigerator, How did you manage to raise me even when i didn’t comply? The pain i caused you that night on the elevator, How did you feel when i touched your lips for the first…

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Shackles of The Street Hawker

At the heart of one of Africa’s most respected cities,
Dwells kings and queens. of survival, the street hucksters,
Determined humans, more persistent than spongers on a buffalo’s skin,
Strangers to each other but loyal when a member of the city council emerges,

How do birds survive?

Have you ever thought of birds, squirrels, impalas, baboons, basically wildlife?…
How they survive out there in the woods, alone, in summer all through winter!…when it’s raining, where is their fire point?

Overnight

It’s eight am in the morning. I’m standing outside my orange-coloured doorway, trying to open it, but alas! Where is the key!??? I desperately insert both hands in the front pockets at the same time. Goooosh!!!…I can’t find my keys!?…

Residing at Grandma’s

The old clay-coated pot was softly snoring as it rested comfortably on the three black rocks. Deep down near my feet, slept master Chung Lee, the blue-eyed cat. With her rough purr in and out of her wind pipe, she harmonised the corners of our circuitous Kisukuu, hut

Dear First Love

If there’s a lass i have ever loved as far as i can breath, it’s you my Carolina,
Remember the highschool days when we were so tied together,
When we were still young, how we sank in deep thoughts planning our future,
How i used to promise you that i shall be successful like Mark Zuckerberg of Facebook,

Daddy, I Wanna Be Like You

Father would narrate his life story as we crossed our tiny legs near the fire place,
How our grandpa passed away and there was no one left to cater for his family,
The first born, aunt Mukulu got married when poverty stroke our papi’s house,
Grandma, still shocked she turned to idolize the ancient mountain gods,

Schooling in Upcountry

Being an elder brother called for parental responsibilities like holding his tiny hand,
Kawasya my small brother was named after the ululating voice that he produced then,
You would take a sugary lollipop from his mouth but his bluster would attract through beating,
My father used to adore his last chubby son who would complete the quadrant,

The Vigorous Youthful Moran🇰🇪

I am barely sixteen summers old, but to my society i can bravely own the title of a warrior,
Having successfully driven the voluminous herd of cattle to the Mamba river severally,
My name was repeatedly uttered in the council of elders, among the community’s most superior,
I owned the title of the most potent young moran ever, raising the eyebrows of the village elders emphatically,