Tears in my eyes !

I remember hearing it somewhere,
Though I can’t recall where.
It’s nothing to do with story za jaba,
You know what, forget it!

But wait, it’s choking me,
Your phone was off on the night of Girlfriend’s Day.
I tried calling, not tripping,
When you finally answered,
There was a guy’s voice and “ssssh” signals in the background.
Tears welled up in my eyes,
As my heart sank into despair.

Who was he?
Was he the one we always argue about,
Or did you switch from Total Quartz to Shell Rimula this time?
Questions raced through my mind,
Doubts creeping into my heart,
As I struggled to make sense of it all.

I thought I did everything you wanted,
I don’t even know what Girlfriend’s Day is supposed to mean,
But I tried to do something special for you,
Only to be met with betrayal and lies.
Tears in my eyes !

In a world where truths often falter,
Where promises melt like morning dew,
One whispers, against a heart’s altar,
Just cheat, if it means losing you.
But how could I ever betray myself,
And sacrifice my own worth,
For the empty promises of a love that never truly existed?

I tried to hold back the tears,
To push away the pain,
But it lingered, like a shadow in the night,
Haunting me with memories of what once was.
I thought our love was strong,
But now I see it was built on lies,
On deceit and betrayal,
Leaving me shattered and broken.

I wish I could turn back time,
To the days when love was pure,
When trust was not a luxury,
But a foundation we both stood upon.
But now, as I wipe away the tears,
I know that some wounds cannot heal,
Some scars will always remain,
And some loves are not meant to last.

So I stand here, alone and broken,
Trying to piece together the fragments of my heart,
Trying to make sense of a love that was never real,
But will always haunt me like a ghost.
I will move on, I will heal,
But the pain of betrayal will always linger,
A reminder of a love that was lost,
And a heart that was broken.

@okelododdychitchats

Stay With Me

You see, I always say,
There’s beauty in what’s clear,
In your smile bright as day,
A charm that’s very wonderful.
Your face, an amazing work of art,
The way you sit so calm and free,
Each time you look, you take my heart,
With grace, like a dancing tree.
I know you might feel tired,
Of hearing this now and then,
But please, don’t get sad,
Take in these words, my sincere poem.
And if you’re reading these lines,
Don’t leave, stay with me,
Though I’m not your top choice now,
Someday I’ll be greater than you realize.
I’m aware I don’t fit your preference ,
But soon, you’ll realize,
My value will pave the way,
For a love made together.
Your beauty stops my world,
A fact that’s clear and bright,
In every smile, every twist,
You’re as lovely as rain in summer

@okelododdychitchats

Wheel of Time

My car has been through a lot, driven by many hands,
Traveling diverse routes, facing potholes and deathly bends.
It’s been tough, surviving punctures and rough rides,
But now, it’s showing signs, secrets it no longer hides.

The steering wheel, once so familiar and warm,
Now feels distant, like facing a brewing storm.
The engine, once steady, now leaks strange oil,
A metaphor, maybe, for a love spoiled.

I’ve loved this car, but it’s failed me in a way,
It’s become a wreck, like a love gone astray.
I fear driving it, scared it might fail,
So, sadly, I must say goodbye, hit the trail.

It’s time for a change, a new start, a new lane,
Where loyalty is strong, and trust doesn’t wane.
So, with a heavy heart, I’ll let go of this ride,
And find a new one, where love will abide.

@okelododdychitchats

Who Owns Your Heart ?

Tell me, how many souls are graced with the tender name “babe” upon your lips?
How many hearts beat to the rhythm of your love songs?
Do you truly hold us all, all eight of us, in your heart ?
Does fear not grip you, knowing the potential storms of entwined destinies?

I tremble.
Do Kemunto’s confessions, laid bare on her Instagram stories, not sow seeds of doubt and fear within your own heart?
How do you define love amidst the thorns of suffering that line your path?
Your love seems a storm, lacking in solace, a relentless force that scars the soul. It could be that your love is but a riddle, a confusion of torment.

I ask again, to whom among us do you pledge your eternal troth?
Am I but a pawn in your daily theater, a recipient of hollow promises and veiled deceits?
Your justifications ring hollow in my ears.
Who reigns supreme in the kingdom of your affections, and what pleasure do you glean from this complex dance of emotions?
Does guilt not weigh heavy upon your soul?
How do you go about this hammer-and-tongs sea of passion?
In the end, I concede; it is your prerogative to chart your course as you see fit. My role in this drama reaches its final act.
Who claims dominion over your heart?

@okelododdychitchats

Fear and Desire

Loving someone deeply, it’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, feeling the exhilarating rush of emotions while simultaneously trembling with fear of the unknown. You can sense the depth of your love, like a warm hug wrapping around your soul, but expressing it feels like navigating a puzzle of uncertainties.

The words “I love you” hang heavy on your tongue, like precious gems waiting to be unearthed, yet somehow they remain lodged in the depths of your heart, hesitant to escape. The thought of losing her sends shivers down your spine, like a chilling gust of wind sweeping through your core, leaving you breathless and anxious.

The titles of boyfriend or husband seem like weighty crowns, heavy with expectations and responsibilities you’re not sure you’re ready to bear. The idea of promising forever feels like building a castle on shifting sands, unsure if the foundation will hold against the relentless tides of time.

And the thought of her bearing your name, becoming Mrs. Okelo, feels like drawing a line in the sand, a boundary between the known and the unknown, between comfort and vulnerability. You know you want to be with her, to share your life and dreams, but something holds you back, like invisible chains tethering you to your fears and uncertainties.

You’re haunted by the specter of failed relationships, like ghosts from the past whispering tales of heartbreak and betrayal, leaving scars that refuse to fade. The fear of watching love turn to hate, of seeing the once cherished title of Mrs. Okelo into the bitter resentment of a proud Miss, cuts deep into your soul, a wound that never seems to heal.

But amidst the darkness of doubt and fear, there is a glimmer of hope, a flicker of courage burning bright within you. You want to confront these fears, to unravel their tangled web and emerge stronger on the other side. You may not know how to tackle it, or how you’ll survive it, but you’re willing to take that leap of faith, to face the unknown head-on, because love, true love, is worth every ounce of fear and uncertainty.

@okelododdychitchats

Cherished

My love for you runs deep,
Like a river carving through mountains, it’s a treasure I’ll always keep.
I’d rewrite every story, change every tune, just for you, my dear,
For your smile, your laughter, your love, my soul holds you near.

I’d paint the sky a different hue, if it meant seeing you smile,
I’d walk a thousand miles, just to hold you for a while.
In your eyes, I find my truth, in your arms, my sanctuary lies,
With you, my love, every moment feels like a prize.

I’ll rewrite the narratives of our lives, sculpt them with love and care,
With you by my side, I know we’ll make a perfect pair.
I’ll dance to the rhythm of your heartbeat, sync our souls in sweet hugs,
For in your love, I find my home, my solace, my saving grace.

So on this Valentine’s Day, let my words be a gentle decree,
My love, forever and always, it’s you and me.
I’ll rewrite our story, change our fate, if it means being with you,
For in this journey of love, my darling, it’s you I’ll always pursue.

@okelododdychitchats.

Why Valentines ?

Today, it’s been 22 years since he departed,
But God, weren’t you her confidant, her friend?
Why pluck her beloved on Valentine’s Day,
When you had countless other days to choose from?
Could you not have spared her this heartache,
Just for one more day, one day to hold dear?

We’ve been taught not to question your ways,
To accept your will as the ultimate decree.
But forgive me for feeling this is unjust,
Is this why your friendships are so few?

My anger rises, for she was still so young,
Just embarking on life’s journey with her family.
With young children, the eldest barely five,
She hadn’t yet found her footing, her stride.

Then, like a sudden storm, death swept in,
And snatched away her partner, her soulmate.
How can this be fair, to leave her
With shadows on a day meant for love’s celebration?

As others stroll hand in hand,
Amidst fragrant blooms and tender caresses,
She cloaks herself in sorrow’s shroud,
Haunted by the ghost of that day.

Even after 22 years, the pain remains fresh,
As if it happened just a breath ago.
She clings to his last words, his final touch,
His essence lingering like a bittersweet melody.

She recalls how his eyelids closed,
Never to flutter open again,
And how he lay, his head gently tilted,
Upon the Agha Khan, Kisumu bed,
As he breathed his final breath.

Death, they say, is a passage we all must tread,
But why, oh why, choose Valentine’s Day?

@okelododdychitchats

Betrayed !

Who says a typical African man cannot cry?
I’ve shed tears countless times,
The pain was overwhelming,
It cut deep into my soul.
I gave my all in love,
Only to be hurt,
Like searing drops of plastic on tender skin,
Like the agony of removing a tattoo.
It felt as if a dagger pierced my heart…
She deceived me all along,
And I, blinded by love, believed her empty words.
I mistook her companions for friends, for allies,
Yet they were all feasting from her pot,
Or what I once thought was mine.
Was I inadequate?
Or was I simply not enough for her?
I am exhausted,
I cannot endure this any longer.
Even in my realization, I cannot welcome you back,
I’ve become wary after being bitten twice.
Your presence no longer comforts me,
Your touch, once tender, now feels abrasive.
I recoil from your hug,
It’s as though I’m being pricked by thorns.
I cannot continue like this!
I am weary and worn, I am tired !

@okelododdychitchats

St. Patricia

In 2008, following the post-election violence, my sister and I joined St. Patricia Memorial Academy, one of the best primary schools in Rongo, Migori region at that time. We were both in grade five. The school boasted of quality education, but it was not reflected in its infrastructure. The buildings were old, windowless, floorless, and poorly planned. In simple terms, the school was an eyesore and not well-built.

When we enrolled in the school, my sister and I stood out as cool kids. Stella was a well-dressed, soft-spoken lady with class. Boys thought she was super beautiful, which she was and still is. I was a neat, well-dressed young man with good writing skills, and well-spoken. We were disciplined and had a unique habit of greeting and receiving things from the teachers by two hands while bowing down. We even said thank you after being flogged, which was ridiculous.

One incident that I’ll never forget from those early days of St. Patricia was when I got punished for writing a good composition. I had written it so well that it was beyond the writing skills of a grade five student. Instead of congratulating me, they decided to punish me and make me write another one. I was disappointed, and I wish they had a plagiarism checker back then. Long story short, I wrote an even better composition, and the teacher responsible had to apologize to me and my dad, who was a senior education officer at that time. He didn’t strip them of their powers, though he could have. Instead, he warned them against doing something like that again. My dad believes in understanding and listening to both parties and didn’t want to act rashly.

Despite the challenges, I enjoyed my stay at St. Patricia. The school made me brave and naughty, and I loved the freedom it offered. On Thursday afternoons, we used to sneak away from school to swim in River Misadhi. It was a welcome escape from the nonsensical debates that often ensued during that time. Seriously, who cared about arguing whether a teacher was better than a farmer or vice versa? A good fraction of boys from my class joined me, and we had fun swimming in the river. Those were good days, and we were doing our internship on sneaking out of school.

Our adventurous spirit did not stop at swimming. We ran away from teachers and even confronted them when they were too much. We took without permission mangoes from people’s farms, and I became good at researching and finding the farms with good yields. I was a great market researcher, and we executed our plans. Ronny and Allan were good at finding banana farms, and we also ran off with unripe bananas and hid them in the thickets around River Onyife. We waited for them to be ripe so that we could dig in and enjoy the contents. Arnold, aka Nyangoma, was good at finding bitches that had just given birth, and we would find a way to get beautiful puppies from them. We did all these for fun, and we enjoyed it. The most interesting part was when we were caught, and we needed to escape. They couldn’t catch us; we were fast, slightly faster than an airplane, and slightly slower than lightning. That’s how I could describe our speed. Those were fun times.

At St. Patricia, we also had beautiful girls. Victor Juma was always winning them, and I envied him. I didn’t know how to talk to a girl, and I would literally cry when a girl I did not want was put to sit beside me. I would remain completely speechless when a girl I wanted was put to be my deskmate. When Cynthia Atieno, the slim, beautiful, and soft-spoken girl, was put to sit next to me, I felt happy, anxious, and confused. I liked Cynthia; she was a bright lady, very shy yet very tactical. I admired her from afar, yearning for her despite my complete lack of understanding about relationships or how to be a boyfriend. I was clueless about what it meant to have a girlfriend, what was expected of me, or even what to do. Unfortunately, I never found the courage to express my feelings to her until we both left St. Patricia. It’s a regret I carried with me, and I vowed never to let such an opportunity slip through my fingers again. Nowadays, I go for it! I have never seen Cynthia since then, and I don’t know how she looks like or who she is now. She escaped my mind too after some good time.

My experiences with my boys were just us being boys and enjoying it while it lasted. However, my teachers and parents took it as indiscipline, and I had to leave the school. My sister and I had to go to St. Benedicts Sony, where I could be monitored more. However, this story is not about St. Benedicts Sony Academy in Awendo, so I won’t tell its story. That was it at the school next to the stream, St. Patricia

@okelododdychitchats

Endless Craving

Every dawn, every dusk, every twilight,

I’m not talking about occasional moments,

It’s a craving that persists,

I yearn to bask in the sensation of you,

To relish the warmth of your breath gently grazing my neck,

To feel the delicate touch of your breast against my chest,

I simply ache to feel your presence close,

To sense the texture of my skin melding tenderly with yours,

To trace the outline of your beautifully arched back with my eager nails,

To firmly grasp your waist in my hands,

To be serenaded by the melody of your moans,

To taste the sweetness of your lips,

I long to feel you nestled beside me,

To shower you with love,

I ache to experience the velvety touch of your lips,

Against my neck, as I strive to imprint mine on your forehead,

To explore with my tongue the contours of your breasts, reveling in their succulence,

Clasping the pert nipples tightly with my lips,

To cradle and caress you, without fail, each and every time.

@okelododdychitchats