A note to thank you.

Dear mother,

There’s none other like you. And it’s really cool that for nine months, you carried me inside you. Like an innocent fool I came into the world and you taught me what school couldn’t. That respect is earned not demanded. Am always reminded of your humility and agility. And that to succeed I have to maintain my authenticity.

Mum, you’re beautiful. Your eyes sparkle like the sunray’s reflection on water. I am honoured to be your daughter. Your affection is priceless. You always love regardless. You are the provider of wise counsel. You are the divider of food in the house. You are the arbitrator when people disagree. You are as strong as a rock.

You are inspirational. When I am irrational, you always provide the voice of reason. Of all seasons, you work hard. Your laugh is infectious. Your heart is golden. Even in olden age, you still exude youthfulness. Your generosity exceeds the ordinary. Your simplicity is to reckon. You give extra attention. You are selfless.

When restless, you told me to practice patience. Thus haste or hate don’t exist in your dictionary. You have the power over the world. Despite your humble itinerary, wherever you go, you command attention without asking. The air around you always feels ample & safe. It’s like an angel surrounds you. Even though I didn’t get to know Dad well, i know that’s why he adored you. He still does. You’re cool peeps ma.

And for all these things & more, thank you.

Yes, You. Yup.

Your smile is irresistible. Your charm incapable of another. If you were a constable, I would break no rules. But because your just a brother, yours are made to be broken. I appreciate your presence, it’s like a token of your gravity. Your chastity is sacred. Your purity admirable. Your wit amiable. And I couldn’t stay away from you even if I wanted.

I am haunted by your graceful touch, always making me lurch towards your motion. While your silence is peaceful, your emotions run deep. I like that because sometimes, I see through your eyes. It’s a place free of lies. It’s where I want to hide when I am weak. It’s where I am understood, even when I can’t speak. And I would be in full swing, even when I didn’t realize it.

You’re a surprise as beautiful as the sunrise. So each day I rise to the occasion of seeing you, being with you and simply, feeling you. Your words inspire many. I aspire to be just like you, a leader. I don’t need a fortune reader to know that your hands were made to fit in mine. Because like a treasure hunt, you found me. And even if you didn’t know it, I would still be your ideal diamond. Yes, me. Yup.

War, Heart, Art.

It’s a wall built so strong and high around her existence, to protect her from you, and all the hurtful things you did. She keeps home, and away from you; because it’s a battle. When she loses she’s the wounded soldier who fell in the dirty puddle of love’s water. When she wins, she’s the little miss perfect, you say. Her rounds of ammunition were not enough because she wound up battered. The crowds of spectators didn’t matter. The more they cheered on, the more she continued to bleed. In bloody love. If you were graceful, you would surrender. For she is under duress, stress and anything you would think of, other than your so-called, love spell.

 

F_ck love! Introducing Kameron Corvet.

Contemporary RnB/soul fused in eclectic soft rock, best describes songs in Kameron Corvet’s new mixtape titled ‘F_ck Love’, released in February 2012. With a falsetto comparable to The Dream’s and some of that raw Frank Ocean lyricism and inexplicable genius, Kameron shows love the finger while sitting on its proverbial fence. The EP is a confession of rollercoaster love; from gooey heartbreak songs to egotistic flirtations and sexual show offs, it really is a hot whirlwind–begging the question, what’s love?

Must you fall to be in love? Must you lose yourself in love? Wait, must you love? That warm fuzzy feeling … is it love? ‘Fuck it, fuck love!’ You’ve probably said that once, twice or maybe never, but it’s highly likely that you’ve once had the secret dream to love or be loved, silently and peacefully.

2. Legends of the fall 03.32

Replay material. Great neosoul track. I loved how the guitars are laden by the hauntingly funky drums from The Gap Band’s, ‘Outstanding’ or if you remember better, Soul For Real’s ‘Every Little Thing I Do.’ He’s spotted a hot girl whose spotted a hot man, him. But she won’t fall into his arms because she’s heard of his bad reputation. And now she won’t pick up his call. I love this one because being a fine brother isn’t reason enough for a girl to be with a man.

3. Good Habits 04.10

This one a very beautiful song. The acoustic rock guitar in it makes me imagine Joss Stone or Alex Pelzer doing its cover. The story is about a man in desperate need for his estranged lover–a bad habit turned good, a fixture he can’t live without. ‘Tell me the secret to your love’ He sings. This one is a show of his splendid songwriting skills.

4. Sign Ur Name 04.08

Another replay material. Upbeat yet mellow, really love the guitars. Would you rather sign your name on the marriage certificate or across one’s heart? Oh the rhetoric. This is a song of a man distressed over the insecurity that his lady is cheating. He even sings in French (very sexy) that every other hour and minute, ‘Je pense a toi’. If Kameron marries me, I will sign his name, anywhere and everywhere, even across Nairobi city

5. Snap Out of It 03.27

This song is effortlessly soulful, and definitely one of my favourites. ‘Don’t you love the way I do you?’ The opening line with the undeniable Musiq Soulchild swag. It’s groovy sound and straight-up talk renders it a great RnB/quiet storm radio hit. He sings, ‘I can’t be the good guy and the bad guy at the same time, you’ve got to make up your mind.’ Relationships aren’t always a walk in the park, we all know that. One day it’s cold and another it’s hot. The wrong partner sometimes turns out to have been the right one and vice versa. Kameron’s one wish is for her to just, ‘Snap out of it’.

7. F_ck Love 05.05

The deep lyricism and acoustic lead guitar in this one can make you jizz! Eargasm doesn’t even start to describe this sound. For the EP title track, Kameron did a lot of justice to this song. ‘I can be honest, i don’t know where i am going. At this point I hardly know where I’ve been’.  You can feel his emotions of a conflicted love. An assertion that love can be evil, but a necessary one at that. I enjoyed the song’s verses melody better than the chorus and hook.

You won’t find a lot of Kameron Corvet’s info on Google, so for the record, I am highly rating this singer/songwriter and producer. Having gone by the stage name Jonz in his earlier career, he’s to date released two albums, Sayingthings and Korporate Rockstar. I think I like him better as Corvet. Well, despite love lost or meager lust, F_ck Love’s 7 songs will leave you with a lasting good feeling; for somewhere in this big bad world lies some good love, for you, and me too To listen/ download the free EP check  www.kameroncorvet.com

BONUS: The video to F_uck Love

Some room for her please.

He doesn’t love me back, so why do I still love him? He turns his back on me; when I try to do the same to him, it kills me. With wickedness he smiles at me but I still lie next to him in steadfastness. It’s almost like he loves to see me suffer. Close to insanity yet distant from it, I am a hustler for his love. He is undeniably a cheating man. He’s meeting me and on his brown shirt, is pink lipstick splashed all over. It’s sick how he’s too blind to see that I am the better lover. For when I kiss him, I am not bitter but I do it in kind never missing his lips or anywhere else he asks me to. And it’s never on his shirt.

He doesn’t want me back, so why do I return to him? He had prior warned that if I wanted to leave, I should take the dog with me. Little does he know that I am in dire need for him, my only dog and sire. So after dumping cold turkey and Rex, brittle and frail– I returned home. He was alone and seemingly happy. I was cold and lonely but he only selfishly asked about the dog, nothing about me. As he rolled up on the right side of the bed, joining him I enrolled back into the ongoing war inside my heart. It hurt, so cried a fresh. It actually felt nice. I am used to tears.  They wash away my fears, but never his lies and my blind ties to him. They said that in the greatest loss there still lies some gain. But I, have nothing if he can’t feel my pain.

He doesn’t call me back, so why do I even write him letters and poems? He will never reply. He will always be the player who lost. In the game where he tossed my heart up high and then kicked it down the gutter. We are like clutter, unnecessary. It’s still a mystery that we are still together, or so it seems. This isn’t like chemistry, it’s like nothing at all. In fact it’s nothing. I now realize that we are nothing. He wakes up teary-eyed and says he had a dream. In it he heard a voice asking him to make me some room. For sleep, peace or comfort, he didn’t quite get that part. And he is not making any effort to. I slept well and I feel at peace. In my dream I also heard a voice that told me to leave, and never look back.

Love & Shoes

Sometimes we are like shoes, downright dirty. Our fights stink and are washed out. You are right and I am always wrong. When I am out like a cigarette, you miss me. We break up then make up. But it’s all a charade, because like shoes we are worn out but still going strong. So we stay up all night long, playing pillows and eating marshmallows. Good times. I would walk for miles in search, but there’s no need. No one else makes me smile like you do.

Sometimes we are like shoes, high. Our satisfaction dangerously leaves us falling, in love. Catching me is your forte and it’s a fact that a fraction of me, is always in control of the situation. We have no limit to how far we can walk, because like shoes we were made to trek, though this love. So we play tricks throughout the relationship. Oh the thrills. You are the anchor to my ship.

Sometimes we are like shoes, inseparable and entangled. Like a shoelace, you embrace me tight, and leave me restless for more, of you. You are a neat man, so I tuck my arms around your sweater. ‘Later!’, we tell them. We are the envy of many. They want to buy us, into their thoughts. But they can’t afford us for our levy is too high and mysterious. Like shoes we clean up very nicely, and then look brand new. Your niceties are like dew, ever fresh. Oh fellow shoe i wrote this verse for you, because you are the hues to my canvas.

Proper nice.

Girl that’s what you are, tight. Your thighs tell it all. It’s how you move not swiftly but gracefully. See it’s how you smile, not just sweetly but angelically. See, I believe in you and everything you do. It’s how you live freely, how you love deeply, how you laugh silly, how you grab me lately, I adore you. I want to open doors for you, anything you love I will do. On the floor you will be my lady. And when the music stops, you will still be mine.

Girl, you are a keeper. I am a leaper and a believer of your love. You are special. And If I have you, I don’t have to think of anything at all but bliss. Your kiss is lethal, making our bond stronger than metal. Missing you makes me go mental, I can’t get rid of you. You lead the way and I follow. Though you sometimes sway, you are always true. It’s what I dig about you. In the desert you will be my sand. And when the storm washes it all away, you will still be mine.

You are a sexy girl. Lately I can’t stop staring at your confidence. Evidence is in how you carry yourself, you never need to defend yourself. Even when you are wrong, you seem right. You make me enjoy light moments when you play with my heart. It’s a joy to see you lay beside me every day. You are the best thing about today. That’s because you shine brighter than the sun, you rock harder than the stone, and when the world ends, you will be my investment. For when they will think I am wasted and nothing, I will still have you proper nice.

Why a black man is like chocolate.

Tall, dark and handsome or short, stout and perky, but still dark–whichever form of African they come in, men are like chocolate. Seemingly hard but malleable, sometimes messy, sticky, sweet and rich or not. In many ways both dark chocolate and black men are quite similar.

Heat melts chocolate. Similarly, any man will practically melt if and when heated up the right way by a lady (preferably a hot one). Various research findings including one done by BBC have cited a sizeable reduction of stress levels following the activity of melting chocolate in the mouth. It’s said that that even beats kissing at reducing stress levels! Good thing, those who don’t fancy chocolate like me can still indulge and benefit from frogs-to-princes induced activities.

A look at plain chocolate or a plain man can either evoke love or dislike (hate is a strong word for skin-choc lovers). Like mud is a naked bar–basic and unattractive. But off the paper and into biting, chances of stumbling upon all types of life’s goodness from wine, nuts, fruits, to any thinkable sweet thing that might fit in, are very high. A man’s nudity, heart, strength or all might turn him into a striking god, a transformation from a dressed-down dull, null and void creature. In summary, to discover what a man/chocolate is made of, you simply have to trust, taste, nibble, and then delve in.

That’s reason why ‘the world’ has blindly ostracized the dark skin of African countries like Sudan as charcoal-ish while brandished that of successful Africans who have become world stars like Mr. Kimora, formerly Djimon Hounsou as a show of light in Hollywood, Nollywood and even classics like ‘Boyz in Da Hood’. Remember the time when youthful/ non-shirtless Cuba Gooding Jr. and Morris Chestnut were synonymous to unopened attractive chocolate covers? Sigh.

I don’t like the non-human version of chocolate so I don’t have the moral/ gastronomical authority of writing on chocolate addiction. However, I have heard of theories and testimonials on how black men can be as addictive as chocolate. White princess Coco reaffirmed the famous quote while speaking on her black ghetto prince Ice-T, “Once you go black, you never go back.”

Most African eyes are veiled and can’t see past the black-fuss. Why should they? Everything in Africa is practically dark anyway, from the streets, people’s deeds, soil and of course the men and women. Black skin however still remains a phenomenon abroad and especially in Europe. Thanks to that, we still have racism and looming sickness in the 21^st century. The latter prompting white women mostly tourists to flood Africa in search of curing the dreaded and deadly ‘jungle fever’ disease, as theorized by my sidekick Chim.

‘Jungle fever’ is a curable ailment that only affects white-skinned women, most times leaving them restless, horny and in need of dark African men (the ones in torn-tattered washed out pants, never-washed Converse and unkempt dreads are usually tastier like extra toppings on the pizza). Black injection in little or large doses is highly recommended, and in all forms.

And true to that prescription–the cured lot usually comprise white women married to black men, or who are with black men parading at African music festivals, weed smoking parties, African traditional ceremonies, crowded markets and slum areas or simply between sheets or somewhere in the streets. This is art, culture and a lifestyle that will never be unraveled, just like the world’s obsession with chocolate.

Chocolate isn’t my thing but when given to me, for pleasure or as a gift; I have no choice but to devour it, a process that takes me days, even weeks to complete. I am glad it takes me just a split second to come up with this thought process. Over a simple conversation while snacking, a friend said to me, ‘Come to think of it, men are like chocolate’. The sound of that statement was sweet enough to make me blog. Did I expound on the topic? I don’t know. But I am certain that it doesn’t matter whether it, she or he is black or white. Just go ahead and enjoy it, and yourself!

Skin Deep

Boy you are a sight, I can’t even lie. Aside from it all, you are sacred. Even in the face of hurt, your heart knows no hatred or anger but adoration and love. Sometimes you are like a river, silent and deep, flowing full of emotion and I am glad, that I have you to keep. While in dire need, I found you. While entirely engrossed in it, like a gift you wrapped me up around you. Like a lift is your love to me, enriching, enticing, elating and surrounding. Around you is simplicity, I don’t strive to impress you. That’s because I am already your empress.

Boy you are some sport, I can’t even keep up. Like a mountain, you are steep and not easy to get across. When I did, I felt a form of achievement because you rewarded me with a rose laden with chivalry and appreciation. You’re like the fountain in my garden that keeps flowing, allowing me to bathe in the waters of serenity. We are hardened by your faithfulness to me and the Almighty, so God bless you babe. We are saddened by fights and incompatibility but we crawl, soon we shall walk, then we could run but not too fast to fall for in the long run, this is not windfall or a fallback, it’s our plan.

Boy you are handsome, I can’t even describe but I will try. Your eyes are the keepers to my secrets. I inscribe prosetry for you because you are the type that appreciates. Your chest is the pillow to my bosom. Your bottom is my up, and my double is your single win. Your kiss is sweeter than honey, your money has nothing on your hugs, you love is deeper than lust, so it lasts all day and night. In many ways, your touch is electrifying, satisfying and gratifying. Between the sheets and streets, you got class. Like a stone cast in the sea, you fall directly into my spot and if I had it all, without you skin deep, it would mean nothing.

Of his colour, music & paint …

I am in love with an artist. He is colour before my eyes. In front of his, I am fallen manna. I am a gift that sits pretty. I am the muse that lifts his spirits. He is needy of a piece of art- me; so yes, I am amused. He is never petty but keen on me- his inspiration. See I feel at peace when he stares into my eyes in adoration. It’s as if I am naked in a garden of exploration. Not of Eden but of a lake of plenty. Not water but of hefty love.

I am in love with an artist. He is music to my ears. And to his, I am the intrinsic song that never ends. As I play his well written notes, he finds joy in my deep well of hidden lyrics. See, he is seasoned in his field, I can tell by the sound of his melody, soothing. It’s as if I am bound by his entirety, cooling. In reality it feels like a beautiful rhapsody that only he can mould and uphold.

I am in love with an artist. To me, he is a painter. To him, I am the canvas. On some nights he puts the brush down and recites me a verse. His might- lies in colours so he uses them sparingly, no rush. They are not made of oil but love, sometimes I blush.  Oh … He is patient, so whatever time he never gives hurriedly. I am his precondition so I never leave undoubtedly. We are some kind of addition to art. Inside my heart it feels like we are an ocean connected by emotions. Silent, peaceful and deep.