David N. Munene Poems

Late out of state without absolute hate,
I decline to incline my fate into failure’s plate
I perceive not me able to be for you that great
Yet you make perfect of me, even in my state
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The human dome has room for home
The same dome has home for more dome
This home in the dome has room for more homes
whatever dome, with whatever home with homes,
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Victoria, dear Victoria, don’t you see in you’s a Victoria?
Raised to dazzle and muzzle Victoria, with the puzzle of her beauty Gloria?
Who sees no need to think “am cuter”, albeit in beauty she’s a cutter?
Is it a matter that, my lips should your beauty utter?
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Consider this message worth not reading
Consider this writing worth not legibility
Consider this characters a-from-space coding
Consider the message worth not deciphering
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Cry nay, cry nay
For whence you cry,
Your lachrymose wells will try to dry
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Sitted in the dark,
Adan of colour black
Feels like one in a closet stuck
He is condemned; he is black
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It ain' jus' influenza
It also is an influencer
Whence we dance from its cancer
Throats dry and fevers high
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Yesterday in my alibi
God swept Nairobi
Walking from work
On pavements where papers stuck
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Inside there is no filth
Just a lil'o stealth
No stenches like outside
Just seemingly peace on the inside
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