The Parklands Diary

                                                                                  Image by Freepik You watch someone change and they don't hold room for you anymore, you can try to squeeze in but the splinters from the door cut you open almost in half and you can only bleed out for so long until you die. You can try screaming at them to let you in but your voice is barely above a whisper now and they're changing and you’re not right in front of them and the maddening crowd is louder than you. Eventually the room is full and you're still whispering for them to make room for you, save me a seat, you’re my best friend, I haven't got anyone else.   How late is too late. When did all the red drain from me? How long have I been lying outside the door? Why didn't anyone notic...

                                                                  Image on Freepik   It's cold out and my coffee has gone cold. The weighted blankets don't do much for me anymore. The turntable is screeching and its all white outside My chest is hollow and my space is much too large for just me Where is my sun, where did she go? The dark is here ,he'll swallow me whole His rage magnifies at this time And it's inescapable even to the strongest When she screams they don't go beyond these four walls Her throat is raspy and its dusk everywhere Bring me my sun, I have to live  

                                                Image on Freepik by Freepik Eight, sixteen, thirty two, sixty four, one twenty... You are seeing too much, more than you should, do you like what you see, or do you revile it?   Tell me, I fear your eyes, I don’t want you to see how I love, how I hate, who I am What’s your story then? Allow me some space in your fantasy, in your little world and I will tell you mine, do you eat raw eggs like I do? Tell me, you, you, even you, do you think like I do? I love to see you happy, too objectified to be living, I feel it for you I can see the awe in your eyes, I’m just as childish as you are, as heartbroken as you are, as entitled as you are, maybe a little different, I fall so hard, I love too much more than I love myself, too young to be too old, the crown on my head is heavy, I’ve seen heavier crowns though, I don’t kno...

                 Image by Freepik on Freepik Your face in the threads of morning light, Your fair hair shining like fine silk, My soul with the angels takes flight, To hold your skin glowing like silk, To lay my head on your beautiful shoulder, For all my heart ever screams is “hold her.” Mbarak Khalid Mazrui is a first year student at The University of Nairobi.

                                                        Image by jcomp on Freepik But Why? You embraced my being at first, Promised to shelter and cloth, And like an innocent child, I fell entrapped Never believing you would change, Now my question remains, BUT WHY?   Take a detour, you said, From the bondage holding your dreams, To the realization of full potential, And the passion you must seek, Now my question remains, BUT WHY?   A few days have passed and nights havegone, Still, I hold steadfast, to your lost affection, Like a deer I pant, for water scarce, Like a widow, I mourn the slow death Now my question remains, BUT WHY?   Helpless you left me, in a world of peril, Trust you, you said but Now, Now my question remains, BUT WHY? Ian Makau is a Second Year Law Student at the Universit...

                                              Image by Google In 2021, when we were all crazy new to TikTok and wondering whether our president will open the country up for sherehe or not, a man in Trans Nzoia was brandishing his files in a bid to sue his son. Hold it there. A couple of decades back, the newly employed Zulu and Xhosa men and women in South Africa coined a term that they lent to us; the rest of Africa. This term found significance in most upcoming economies and societies, and still, even now is relevant and deeply rooted in our customs. We can say that it has become part and parcel our proud Ubuntu. I am so glad that I first heard the term “black tax” from a Xhosa young man. ` Khuomide (sound `kh pronounced in click) and I was talking about the forms of corruption during the MNIV Debate Championships in Dar es Salaam back in 2018. I was bragging about ...

  One day the pain will go away And the injustices we faced forgotten The wells of our tears will run dry Agony will be a forgotten vocabulary We will lie in a very quiet place Where our tormentors cannot get us Mother Nature will welcome us Her plants will grow above us Beautiful birds will take shelter in them And sing us soft melodies Days and years don’t exist in this world I long for this infinite eternity But until that day I will hold on to my pain Hoping it won’t devour me By  Kariuki Njumbi