THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR


“THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR”

The visitor came
And left
As the sun lost its vigor
Choking in the murkiness of
The engulfing night
Giving in to the big moon

The visitor came
After feeling the emptiness of
My void soul and left
After filling my bodily faculties
With its infectious scratch

The curtains flapped,
As the trees swayed in the darkness
And the visitor continued to steal
Mincing me with zeal
Making me his meal
Plucking my milk teeth one after the other
His iron rod screwing tooth after tooth
In the choking darkness

The visitor came and left me
Writhing in pain
The pain of loosing the coveted milk teeth
The one that reminds me
Of my origin
and his origin too

The visitor had pretended to be good
And thus I welcomed him in
His hands were bare and his face was fine
Wearing an infectious smile
And a grin of a midnight visitor
And then; came the hidden rod
Plunking and plucking
My milk teeth

My cries and wails persisted
And the visitor continued
Plucking my milk teeth
One after the other
The curtains flapped
Letting in the flashes of the midnight storm
And I would see him galloping for air
As his rod, trapped in the bottom of my lips
Continued ripping me helplessly

The visitor came and left
Leaving my mouth agape and
All my milk teeth gone
My eyes swollen
And my lips bleeding
The midnight visitor
Came and left me
Writhing in pain


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. TWO HOURS BEFORE IS THE SOLE OWNER OF ALL WORKS APPEARING ON THIS BLOG AND REPRODUCTION IN FULL OR PART WITHOUT PRIOR PERMISSION BY THE AUTHOR IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED.

Read about the Author on the February issue of Parents Magazine 2010 and read his untold story. Also Join Two Hours Before on facebook and twitter. NOTE: Two Hours Before is the fastest growing poetry blog in the country with over 27,000 visits and several reputable Reviews across the world.

MWANGI S. MUTHIORA
EXCECUTIVE DIRECTOR
Two Hours Before
[email protected]
+254 725 385 654

"THE LAST SMILE"

To mark this auspicious day and make a contribution to Environmental Conservation, Two Hours Before has posted the poem 'The Last Smile'

NOTE: This is an ORIGINAL work and reproduction in any media is STRICTLY PROHIBITED without prior permission from the Author, Mwangi S. Muthiora. Reproduction permission can be obtained from the author through: [email protected] or +254 725 385 654. or his Attorneys on: [email protected]
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 2010


"THE LAST SMILE"

Do not remind me of the last smile
That giggle
The tough laugh
Let me remind you of the danger ahead
Do not remind me of the yesterdays
When i delved in my innocence
Do not remind me of the gone purity

Do not remind me of my lost fortune
When you freely explored
My physical anatomy
When you smiled, laughed and giggled
All this time, licking my innocence
But you have finally made me a nuff

For centuries
I have restrained myself from madness
I want to go mad, i have to
I want to regain my smile
That you smilingly stole from me
Yet you still gives me a smile
A pretentious laugh

Your dirty breath has choked me
My lungs are now ruptured
And my skin scorched
And my hair? its also long gone
Smilingly you have proclaimed my extinct
Yet, giving me a last tough laugh

Look at my bald head
All my hair is gone
Smilingly you have chopped and chopped
A hair after the other
Leaving me as bald as the plains of Kalahari

Look at your cruel cruelty
Yet you give me a smile?
I will not let you lungula me again
I will roar, shout and wail
I will erupt, scorch you, and drown you

Its only then shall I feel contented
And then give you the last smile
Hosting your lifeless you
In the depth of my earthly faculties

The waters of El nino shall flood your grave
And the midday sun shall scorn your kids
Thats when I shall have a reason to smile
The last smile


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 28TH MARCH 2010
MWANGI S. MUTHIORA

Today, 28Th March 2010, the entire world shall observe an hour of nonessential lights off. This is an effort geared towards marking "The World Earth Day" Its expected that lights in major cities and towns across the world shall go off simultaneously and remain off for a record 1hour. While as the Governments across
the world have been desperately trying to cut down their green house gas emissions, touchable achievements are yet to be realized. By arresting and reversing the upward trend in greenhouse gas emissions that started in several countries 150 years ago, the Kyot

‘THE DEATH OF MAKMENDE’

His character was elusive
No one could understand him
Today he would look like an angel
Tomorrow an ugly devil
When hungry, he would chew anything
Indeed ‘everything’ within his able reach
But it’s when thirsty I feared him most!
Then, he would drink, and drink, and drink
Anything- everything
Funny enough, he had a liking
For the gravesides
This what made him vicious!

Makmende was good at times
He would listen and reason
May be it was pretence
When he promised heaven on earth,
he literally made it hell
Somehow, his name sneaked
Into the good books
Though albeit lies and pretences
He whispered detest, hate and death
But his roar was full of love, affection and purpose
Most of the times, he ‘roared’
He preferred a roar over a whisper!

Makmende loved women too
Or may be they loved him
His queer character was the bait
They flocked his threshold
He would be heard roaring love serenades
To the lucky ones he just roared love
And to the unlucky ones he whispered
Whispers of desperation and multiplication
Amazingly, he would just whisper
The ‘f’ word, and nine months later,
A small ‘kakimende junior’ would sprout
Probably to guarantee continuation
Of the ‘great’ Makmendes dynasty!

Makmende was a queer man
Severally, he had stolen a neighbor’s cow
He had learned the tricks
He would milk it and invite his neighbour
For a cup of tea.
He stole everything,
Cows, goats, donkeys, votes, knives and even wives
Each time he stole votes and knives,
There would be reprisals

Makmende is arguably a bad person
He killed his spare-wheel
After the death of his love
Occasioned by his love for sweet lungula


His death is now a mystery
Some says it was the ‘dear maize cob’
He minced the grains
One after the other
He chewed; relaxing on the cosy ‘lazy boy’
After-all he had no bills to pay
This a real ‘f’ deal!
He had made yet another catch
From his naïve victims
Then came the shouts, and he roared back
“I better die, than resign”
That’s the closest he came to death

Makmende it’s said got choked
Maize grains stuck in the wind pipe
He staggered out of the ‘Royco Place’
To the Triton oil pump just across the road
As usual he drunk, and drunk, and drunk
Makmende then remembered the story
‘Highway To Sacharngwani’
And a fireball exploded in his belly

That’s when he started writing his ‘will’
To avert reprisals in his death
Son after the other got their share
From the shores of Indian Ocean,
To the water pillars of the great Mau
From the plains of Taveta hills
To the floor of Mt Kenya

Surprisingly, Makmende reserved his last catch;
The graveyards of Kitengela
That he and members of his ‘great’ dynasty
Shall lay in pieces! And find solace after
Leaving a trail of destruction

THIS IS THE STORY

The untold story
The story of the past
The story of today
The story of tomorrow
The story about a story- untold

This story has no plot
Neither does it has characters
Its characters have no characteristics
Their characters already dead
It’s a utopic story.

It’s a story about everything
The story tells us nothing
No one likes telling the story
But everybody listens to it.

It’s not written anywhere
It has no narrator
Nobody knows its origin
The only story that makes one laugh
And cry at the same time

Its prologue is unending
Just like its epilogue
It’s a story about many stories
Stories about other stories

It talks about birth
It talks about death too
It’s the story about the righteous
It’s a story about the wicked

The only story about the
Past, today and tomorrow
It’s the story that compares men to beasts

This is the story about the unknown
It talks about America, China, and North Korea
The story is strange
It even mentions Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran and Israel
It idolizes Wall Street



However, the story is shy
It is the only story that misses the word Dafur
The story does not talk about Zimbambwe
Nor does it mention DRC

It’s about rape- fathers raping their daughters
Mothers fornicating with their sons
It’s a strange story
Where characters abuse human dignity
It’s the story that compares the incomparable

The story is set in unknown country
A wonder country
Where true stories are told in whispers
They are not written
Nor sang or narrated- only in whispers
It’s a story of sorrow
A story of bewilderment
Set in illusion


All Rights Reserved. Reproduction in part or full is strictly prohibited. Simon Mwangi Muthiora.
THIS POEM IS A WORK OF FICTION, CHARACTERS AND PLOT IS ALL SET IN ILLUSION. CONTACT THE AUTHOR ON: [email protected] or http://twohoursbefore.blogspot.com

WHO AM I

Who do they say I am?
In the vast savanna
They call me daughter of the sands
The beleaguered woman
The shelter maker

Who do they say I am?
At the coast, I have several names
Saumu, Fatima, Harsia…..
Daughter of the deep seas
The mummy water; others quip
Who am I?
The beleaguered woman
The pilau cook

Akinyi yoo
Akoko yoo, Atieno yoo
Daughter of the fishes
They say my omena is the best
And you, whom do you think I am?
Have you ever seen me dancing?
Off course not to those silly instruments
Not at all
Dancing to the tunes of otutu
Daughter of Ramogi
The beleaguered woman

Irio is my favorite
I also make good matoke!
Many a man fears me
“She is the money manic; the gold-digger?”
Wanjiku, Gaceri, Waithera
All are my names
The beleaguered woman
Pillar of Mt. Kenya

Kitu cha mtongoea
What does this mean?
Others say I am the daughter of the salty waters
The face of the vast plains
The hip buster
Others call me a witch
I am not one,
I am a bed wizard
Look at my curves- my bait
The beleaguered woman
The bed icon


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. REPRODUCTION IN PART OR WHOLE WITHOUT PRIOR CONSENT FROM THE AUTHOR IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED.

This is an original work by Mwangi S. Muthiora.

"HUMAN RIGHTS CRUSADER; DIPLOMAT IN THE MAKING" The story of Mwangi S. Muthiora. Founder of Two Hours Before and the Managing Director of Fafdays Foundation.

When i started this blog, i hardly expected it to grow this fast. In under an year, TWO HOURS BEFORE has maintained a very high number of visits and new membership. Our sister facebook group under the same title has also managed an impressive 950 members within a very short time. I thank you all my fans and friends for your support and encouragements. I resume my poetry posts next week with my Valentine Special poem for this valentine season. Below is short commentry followed by extracts from the super brand Parents Magazine that has carried my personnal untold story. Buy your copy and read the whole story. In the meantime, enjoy the extracts.

Several years ago, I helped Lieutenant General (Rtd) Gonzana Bukenya get freedom from the oppressive Ugandan Military that had kidnapped and secretly ferried him out of Kenya. Bukenya, a former Personal Aide to President Museveni had been accused of planning and masterminding an alleged plot to over throw the government together with some other dissidents. Further, he had been accused of collaborating with the Opposition and the infamous Lords Resistance Army of one notorious Joseph Kony. When I met Gonzana Bukenya, he was a man on the run and he was trying to get a Visa to Denmark or the USA where most refugees were seeking asylum.

At the youthful age of 32, Bukenya had managed to climb the Military ladder to the coveted post of a Lieutenant General and a decorated Presidential Aide- normally reserved to high rank military officials and personal confidants to the president. This inspired me and we immediately struck a very strong rapport. After all he represented what I had always dreamt of; success and ambition.

“Ambition can be dangerous at times” that’s what I later learnt as my association with Bukenya had squarely put me on the wanted list of the one feared Museveni. In more than one incident, I practically cheated death as ‘special security agents’ hovered around me and my family………………..read on the extracts below. However, the story has been highly edited and thus some very key incidences have not been captured. I though intend to someday write my Memoirs and share my untold story.

Below are some extracts from my feature story “Human Rights Crusader, Diplomat in the making” appearing on the February issue of the super brand Parents Magazine, published by Stellan Consult Ltd and Distributed/ Circulated by Nation Marketing & Circulation Group




Simon Mwangi Muthiora, 28, got engaged in human rights campaigns and activism from his days in secondary school. This was by chance. A major personal challenge he had could have broken a weaker person, but this young man used his weakness at the time to discover a strength that had been dormant.

“……………….many people blamed me for sticking my neck out too much in Bukenya’s case, but I thought I did the right thing, as I am not one to shy away from challenges. My journey to bravery and human rights started when I joined Kanunga, a provincial high school in Kiambu District in 1997. Despite my excellent performance in th

ALMOST A VICTIM

It wasn't in the dark,
Nor was i in a park,
No light of the moon,
As it was at noon.

Thought it was hot as he undressed,
But he grabbed me and caressed,
Held me tight,tighter,n tighter,
Thought i couldn't be a fighter.

Realizing i was in a battlefeild,
But had no sheild,
I felt weak,
As i tried to speak,
To plead,
And be freed.

I even opted to scream,
As if that was the theme,

Miraculously i think the gods spoke,
Though they didn't poke.
Or rather his senses got to work,
As before he was acting like a jerk.

And almost a victim,
Out i kicked him,
My very own friend,
Opted to offend,
Friendship suspended,
Wonder whether we'll amend.

AUTHOR: GwLADYS ENE NJEHU

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, REPRODUCTION OF THIS POEM IN FULL OR PART IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. ENE NJEHU HOLDS ALL THE RIGHTS TO THIS POEM. SHE CAN BE CONTACTED ON: Email: [email protected]


GWLADYS ENE NJEHU was born somewhere in central province but brought up in the great rift; Nakuru Kenya. She attended Bahati Girls High School before proceeding to Jomo Kenyatta University where she is pursuing a Degree in BCom & Administration; Finance option. She worked with KLB as an Intern Assistant Accountant. She is a highly motivated young lady and has been writing for several years now.

"REMEMBER HAITI & ITS WOUNDED PEOPLE"



REMEMBER THE REST

Below this rumble
I try to mumble
A word or two, but its all a whisper
Above me is a heavy slab
Slapping over my face
My heart is making a whisper
Before i weather
and like a feather, in the air
I will soon disappear

Now that you have heard my whisper
Worry no more about me,
Soon I will be gone
Abeit painfuly
Am i lucky though?
I will no more see this light
Neither will i ever see
The wounded motherland

In the next rumble
I can feel the cries
All natures hostage
Before the slab slaps me
I remember the lovely motherland
Before the angle of death
Flapped and flapped
As he neared Haiti


Cough....cough cough!
The dust is choking me,
I can feel the slabs smoldering me
Remember my brothers and sisters
Remember my wife
Remember my husband
Remember my son
Remember my daughter
and my parents too,
Remember Haiti, and its devastated
thousands, dilapidated, wounded and shaken

Remember,
The quake just struck once
And you can act once
And help Haiti overcome the disaster

Cough.....cough, coooough!
Over to you.....!


All Rights Reserved
MWANGI S. MUTHIORA

This is a an original poem. You can share it and help raise funds for Haiti Population that has been hit by the worst earthquake in several years. Incase you shares this poem, kindly make sure you recognize the author; Mwangi S. Muthiora, +254 725 385 654 or Email: [email protected]

TO GIVE DONATIONS, CLICK ON 'DONATE' AT THE SAVE HAITI WIDGET ON THE RIGHT HAND SIDE OF THIS PAGE.
JOIN THE REST OF THE WORLD IN THIS NOBLE CALLING AND YOUR ASSISTANCE WILL GO ALONG WAY IN HELPING HAITI BACK ON ITS FEET. TO SEND YOUR ASSISTANCE FROM KENYA....VISIT THE RED CROSS OFFICES OR JUST SEND YOUR DONATIONS TO THEIR HELPLINE NUMBER

"Two Hours Before" Wishes the people of Haiti quick recovery from this disaster.

Haiti's worst quake in two centuries hit south of the capital Port-au-Prince this week. Thousands of lives have been lost, many are still missing, and hundreds of thousands of people have been affected. Haiti's Prime Minister Jean-Max Bellerive says he believes more than 100,000 people may have been killed.

The earthquake has destroyed much of the already fragile and overburdened infrastructure in the most densely populated part of the country. A massive and immediate international response is needed to provide food, water, shelter, and medical supplies to the people.

TWIN TOWERS


'TWIN TOWERS'
At the slightest provocation
You sprout out, soft, tender, and innocent
Before a sense of shyness
Creeps in
On your fertile land

Gradually, you become visible
Standing against all odds
From afar you are visible
you distinguish your fertile plains
From your brothers plains

Soon the harvesting will start
Not without a season of planting
Your tenderness
The irresistible bait

Your shy land
A naff in your absence
Denying you freedom
To bask in the plains
With fear of intrigue
And the unending intimidation

Amazingly you got strengths
That makes the brethren salivate
Droll oozing from corners
Of their lustful lips
That's the intensity of your grip

Emotions overwhelming
Temperatures escalating
Spurious glances
Only after your mention
A measure of your might

Who exactly hates seeing you
The paupers or the opulent
Spirit chasers or the priests
Black, white or yellow
You are simply the same
Your jinx immeasurable
Just who detests you?
Who would dare fondle your volume
Without hurting their emotions
Just who?

A cassock you are
To the tender and young
Your crater oozes goodness
The young and elderly crave to feel you
Your texture an oasis of bodily hope
Waking up other bodily faculties
Both within and without
Who says you are bad?

A bond of the past
A tablet of memoirs
Good and bad
Bad and good
Ooh great twin towers
Don't come down yet
Rise and rise

All Rights Reserved
MWANGI S. MUTHIORA



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED MWANGI MUTHIORA 2009
REPRODUCTION OF THIS POEM IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED.
TWO HOURS BEFORE IS A REGISTERED TRADE MARK.
Twin Towers- THE WOMANS BREAST that all of us crave to see, feel, fondle, and of course suckle!

"MONEY OR THE BOX"
On 27th July 2002, Stephen Cherono lead a pack of highly promising Kenyans' athletes to a clean sweep of Gold, Silver and Bronze in the Commonwealth Games held in Manchester. With him were brothers Ezekiel and Abraham Kemboi who won silver and bronze respectively. The celebrations were however short lived; Stephen Cherono switched citizenship and to the dismay of many, he even changed his name to Saif Saaeed Shaheen! This is where and how my poem below was too born.....! Later, he appeared on track for Qator and so passionately trounced his 'Kenyas' compatriots to win the Gold. I have all the respect for this great athlete and this poem is intended to arouse the debate on Patriotism and Career. Remember the Qatars' offer of 100 million shillings to Denis Oliech? He thou declined the offer and as well became a hero at home. For the earnings, he still seems to laugh all the way to the bank!

KENYAS STEPHEN CHERONO: QATARS SAIF SHAHEEN

STEPHEN CHERONO

Poor lad of Rift Valley
I ‘hear’ you got a new name
They are calling you
Saif Saaeed Shaheen
What happened?
Just how did you dare?
To cut your own roots
Tap root in specific!

Poor lad of Rift Valley
I hear you got a new home
Qatar! Is it true?
You are now swimming in oil
Leaving the fresh waters of Rift Valley

Poor lad of Rift Valley
‘Mwacha mila ni mtumwa’
Just see how they are frustrating you now
Soon you shall be a nuff
Only then shall you know the extent of the damage

Poor lad of Rift Valley
Slavery is long gone
It’s forgotten!
Only that you are now reminding us
Of those bad old days
Poor lad of Rift Valley
Look back at your mother land
Look at your mothers tears
See how miserable you are now

Poor lad of Rift Valley
You got a brother in Denmark too
Kipketer is his name
Abroad a hero
At home nothing but zero
He too basks in the white gold
To your motherland you are big shames
Brothers, who are we to blame
Before you become lame
And they send you home
But not without some shame


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. MWANGI MUTHIORA 2009
RE-PRODUCTION OF THIS POEM IN FULL OR PART IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. THIS IS AN ORIGINAL WORK; ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. MWANGI MUTHIORA.

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