Musings: Values, Virtues and Vices of Africa and Beyond

By Maina Wahome

"In the poems Musings, Values, Virtues And Vices Of Africa And

Beyond, the poets engage the reader in intricate, intimate, and

subtle questions about love and loathing, faith, and grief, Africa and

beyond, climate change, and change of heart, feminism, and the

trammels of patriarchy and society. I am primarily

impre

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ukiyoto Publishing
• Release date: Jul 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9789361724848

Book preview

Poems by

Maurine Wahu Kimani.

Sundays, And The Pimped Out Harlot

Oh! How I love Sundays!

Sleeping in,having breakfast looking out the window,

At my neighbors going about their business…

Not in haste because if I don't

I may faint in the middle of a busy day,

But leisurely,

Because I want to savor the taste of something delicious.

Burning incense, scented candles and sage.

The smell of jasmine, lavender,sandalwood,bleach and clean, air-dried laundry.

Long head to toe showers, lathering this body in my favorite scents; vanilla, raspberry, cocoa butter and bitter orange.

Pampering my skin; a moisturizer here, some butter there, some oil here, a woody fragrance here and there…

Slipping into a clean pair of sheets in a fresh set of pj's.

Some online gossip, a good show and some nice take out.

A day when I decidedly and intentionally,

Belong to myself.

Every other day I'm a pimped out harlot,you see.

My pimp advocates for autonomy, or so he has me believing, Such a benevolent king!

He gives me a list of clients, and I choose on which day I will service them.

Rent is my least favorite, a ruthless prick.

He fucks hard, rough and relentlessly,

so I serve him first to lighten the misery.

Bills comes next, a fellow quite moody.

He gives a good time if I play nice,

but if I’m nasty, he is a real pain in the ass.

Then comes savings,for his one, I have mixed feelings.

Because every time I'm servicing him,

he says to not look at now,

That his girth might be squeezing into me now,

and stuffing me in places I don't enjoy,

But it is all for my own good. How diabolical!!!

I know it sounds awful, like a constant loop.

This, my life,my existence.

I mean yes, believe me,

I know,

It's almost pathetic

But it's not all bad,

Every so often, my pimp Capitalism, gives me a sweetheart.

Lifestyle. Oh, how I love this one.

He is gentle, sensual and calm,

He knows every right spot and hits it just right!

He is expressive, he asks how I'm feeling,

sometimes  if I need anything.

He is still a client, but he even calls me baby girl.

I don't feel so dirty giving myself to him,

Because unlike the rest, he doesn't just take ...

He takes and gives back in equal measure...

Sometimes even more, he is a real treat.

That is why I reserve Sunday solely for him,

My beloved.

But just because my pimp gives me some change,

a treat here and a bonus there,

A sick off, a day off on labor day and a couple other days, don't mean I am not tired,

It don’t mean that sometimes,

I don’t wish him death!

Father’s Words

My father, not a man of many words,

But once he said, go to school,read something.

And even when you don't get it,read, don't play around, this may be your ticket to a better life,read some more! And to read I did!

Then after I finished college, I got a job.

It didn't pay much and my employer was ruthless

When I told him, he said,work, even when you hate it, and you dread getting to work in the morning,work.

You love having some money in your pocket, dontcha?

work some more!

And to work I did!

Then he came to visit me in the city

He was chasing some government cheque,

If we're being honest, it was his retirement fund.

He said my boy, you have a good house,

You're earning a penny and some,

Get a woman to take care of you.

A wife will always bring balance,

And off he went!

I mulled over his words,then called him later that night.

I protested his advice,

I had a plan.

I wanted to live a little,I said.

Travel, maybe see the world.

But he said, boy, get a wife,

you will understand one day.

And a wife I got!

A year passed, then two, then three,

We had not put to bed,

my wife and I,

we were waiting for the perfect time.

More honestly, we fought more than we made love

We were too different,too stuck in our ways.

That not withstanding,

when we paid him a visit,

He said I wasn't getting younger and neither was she.

Time was fast passing,her window fast closing.

We should have children,

And children we had!

First came Njeeri,my mother,

then Mwanîki,my father,

Then Mwangi,hers and last,Wanjikû.

Although she was named after my wife's mother,

she was the apple of my eye.

She took my entire heart and my whole face!

Now here's the thing,father,

I stand face to face with retirement,

I’m about to start chasing my money,

I didn't play, I read instead,

I didn't quit, I worked instead,

I didn't live,I married and had kids instead,

But the government took my money,

My employer took my time,

And all my children, save one,took my gardener's face

All I have, father, is a question,

Where is my balance??

Unrequited Love

Unrequited love,

I imagine,

Is akin to aloe vera.

Clothed in the pungent stench

Of always wanting to be something more,

But constantly failing to match up.

Dressed in thorny green.

Jealousy,at everyone’s blissful ignorance,

And refusal to validate the knowledge of its greatness.

Constantly not being good enough,

Always having to be mixed up with something,

In order to be considered the great thing,

the sure thing,

the real thing.

Always being either too much or not enough.

Only good enough for perhaps...

The bitter taste of never being the chosen one,

The gel-like stillness,

Unsure whether to stay solid or flow,

Flow to something that thrives

Or stay solid

Like something that will always be what it is,

Never more,sometimes even less.

The insatiable,undying need for approval,

But almost always sinking into pits of lack,

Stumbling upon need and sometimes nothingness,

Only to be picked in time of need,

Just long enough to be used,drained and cast aside.

Passing Of Time

The thing about passing of time,

Is that it puts me on a pedestal,

A vantage point so to speak.

Over all former versions of myself.

Sometimes I laugh at my sheer madness,

And my unyielding dedication to stupidity,

Other times I cringe in horror,

Of disrespect that I let slide and things I did for external validation.

The times I sold out to be accepted,

By folk that deserved no more than a quick hi,

And an even quicker goodbye.

And other times I gag and shudder in disgust,

At the things I thought should rule my world.

But every once in a while there's that sweet spot,

Where younger me and current me gather,

To raise a toast and talk,

as we reminisce on the naivety of her,

the younger me.

And applaud the wisdom of retrospect in current me.

We chuckle at younger me that wanted attention,

Wanted a man at her beck and call,

That girl that wanted him to look at her and feel things, that would make him crown her his beautiful,

To have and to hold and to cherish for eternity.

We laugh at her utter disappointment,

On the realization that eternity is relative,

Sometimes only lasting a couple weeks,months at best.

We laugh some more at the knowledge,

That only a man will find you,

At your most wholesomely gorgeous  zen,

Enough in the very best version of yourself,

Graceful and tender in the worst,

and even then, enough still.

Then talk you into sharing your world,

Only to punch holes in the castle you've built,

And put up murals of doubt and insecurity,

And then when you start raging mad,

He'll be loaded in enough cognitive dissonance,

To turn around and say, Bitches really be trippin man! On God, these hoes really be crazy.

We raise our glasses to the current me,

That just wants to work and get paid,

Eat good food and read great books,

See the world and experience its wonders,

Beautiful sunrises and even more beautiful sunsets

Beachside breezes and mountain side rains

The me that wants to further education,