When everything was a thorn, when hope in me wasn’t born,
When my care was a bit torn, when I used to lack every coin,
Yes, I say when I seemed thrown, when every hope had gone,
Praying was my daily song tone, in fact it was regular rhythm.
Inevitable was the blessings, the DAD had heard my prayers,
God fulfilled my kind prayers, everyone was audience at least,
Happiness reigned with ease, anger and hunger was loose,
Settled life in fact it was, I lack better description.
Daily song turned seldom, pride became epitome.
The epoch proved my malice, every opposite me tasted me,
Commoners to me turned opposite, I became a VIP,
I was busy killing ‘the me’, was it not for the luck.
The curve is at the origin, the graph paper is the same,
The axes horizontal and diagonal, how will the curve go up,
Pride sharpened the pencil to end, ignorance dirtied the paper,
No replacement for the paper, what will I do?
When I go back, will God hear me again?
When I sit back, everything will worsen,
The real dilemma, I blame myself,
In fact, I see it, it was a mistake.
By Patrick Mutinda,
The writer.
patrick's poetry 