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 I bestow, far from sayings of good life or tales of lion's mane. I recall all the dusty memories life has forced me to keep. And amid the shelves, I keep these memories, are dried tears I cried alone in the nights of the dead and the times of witches. So don't judge me when I prefer silent cemeteries to Sandy beaches because it's poetry from within. I laugh in the wind, hoping that the pearly gates would somehow be nicer and maybe God would consider otherwise. Am for the proud wanderer, off to the limits considered the other part of the veils of life. And in this dusty memory, is where I hope to never cry, at least console myself with the dust, and if they get too much, I hope to choke in them. And it will read, "for the memorable son, he who never bestowed upon and by happiness" in the eulogy by the living


     NAME:- Gibson Kemboi

Gibson Kemboi is a poet and law student in University of Nairobi. He has wrote several unpublished poems and articles. He writes widely on love poems and articles.


AquarianM said…
I feel the sadness in this write, but also a sense of determination and strength. The best validation always comes from within, not without. Strong write here.


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