My Untitled

Poetry Bits by

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

To David Obadha, for believing in my first bloom even before my blossom

December 1st,2015.

Lie to my face

Who were you before?

To have a soul

What could drive such warmth?

To have so much love to give this world

How do you draw the glitter in your eye?

I, shall stare right into you every other while

Yet still remain ice cold to your touch

Eat and drink from the pit that is life

For that is all I learnt, to detach

So as I stare right into the mirror

Lie to my face

That I have a soul.

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

November 30th,2015.

A love letter to the men I have loved.

We should have all had a discussion

About my love for wallpaper

And no!

My house is not too small to occupy

Due to the dark shade I painted it in

Maybe I should have taken a structural class;

on how to shed each layer you all left on me.

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

November 29th, 2015.


Death is the price of my liberty

The first loss that is my home

This place that holds my roots which I continue to dig for

Hoping that one day

My hands shall learn how to turn the ‘mwiko’ to the East

Mounting seeds of ‘flower’ in my motherland

Heaps that one day may make me woman enough to bring forth a seed

Central to my heritage as they know not of the North, West nor South

Death of my culture

That holds no ground in my heart

My feet

Flee from the strings that are webbed in the call of my clan

Hoping that the graves I am tied to

may teach me to stir a thick stew of the seeds of my flower into a gourd

Rather than hang it on my blackened walls

Death of my name

The foundation that reminds me I was their seed of flower

These black letters I wish to seed into non-existence

Because no matter the charcoal that paints my skin

I shall still hold the clouds in my palm

Death of thy self

For who am I?

That cannot even fetch from the river of my birth rite.

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

May 23rd, 2015.

Papa lives in a brown bottle

At the bottom of the heel

Of his feet

On sunny days

Papa manages to pop his head up

If not drown in his home

Ask mama on such days

Bent over her bucket of laundry

Mama draws out the map

On papa’s soiled kaftan

Junior need not pick a pen

To sniff your way

Papa’s haven

He loves to giggle at the scent

The only sound he makes yet.

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

April 24th, 2015.

I know what I want

And it is not what my heart beats for

Nor is it what my head thinks of

But with every day and night I tick off the calendar,

It becomes more and more clearer to me.

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

April 24th, 2015.

Stuck in between my rib-case

Causing rift in between my chest

The valley that is our love.

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

April 3rd, 2015.

Let me save you the trouble Sir

No need to stir

A conversation

Wipe the glitter

up your eye

I am nothing but a fraudulent Star!

Strip me of the papers

Down to my bare nudity

Nudity of the soul

Strip me of the fancy apparel

Side to side to my bare skin

Nudity of the flesh.

Now let us start up

The real conversation

Do not trust my hands

They tend to be slippery

Sweaty palms that serve as a constant reminder

Of the bloody sewage I had to swallow

The bitter pill I have had to drink time and time over

The dirty river that was my childhood

Do you smell it Sir?

The foul scent that is my motherland

Do not rest your hope on my legs

Always faced backwards

Ashamed of the dirt and mud

Stuck in between the gaps

Cracks that inhabit memoirs of a tiny mud house

Almost always ready to flee

That which is my motherland

Try to dig deep into my head

Drag out the brains on those papers

Help me see beyond the roots

That grow deep down to my heritage

Which makes you doubt what you might have dug out of those papers

Stare at the nudity of my motherland

Or rather, pull out my heart

Pour out the bullets from my little red sack

Bodies of my kin in a hidden hut

Nothing but a constant reminder

Pain, anger, sorrow, darkness

Packed neatly for you to discern

View me from my motherland.

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

March 4th, 2015.

With Tuja May.

I did not like it. How you stepped on my foot. Then to nudge me further. Left your footprint on my heart. I always knew you were the one.

I did not like it. When my mind raced further than my feet could catch you. Yes, I knew you are the one.

And when I waited for your invite. But never got a pace closer to your haven, I still knew how it looked like. Rough pebbles on the ceiling. Messy piles if clothes at the night corner. That lamp shining dimly. Just the right corner for the social mediacre. I always wondered if they were signs. Of the mess you would make of my heart and mind. But I always knew! You were the one.

The loud chaos of our love, the bed springs, the broken shelves, the way we began, the knowledge of knowing we would never end. I knew you were the one.

How I shed that blood and sweat. The slow pace of our teardrops. The long end miles. The ache in my being. That never was. How could they be brought forth? When you were the one.

Even before I knew whom I was. Before I knew the colour of my skin, You changed it. And made me ‘being’ where I only see your light. Could it be you formed me? So when you ask me, I knew, I will wonder whether I should tell you all this. Because from where I am standing…

I know you are the One.

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

Sometime in 2014

Shovel up! Shovel down!

When do you look at the other side of the line

And finally realize you have lost a dime

That moment in time

When you cannot recognize that which drove you

When all you feel is the pain

The taint

Left from the paint

Which now gradually peels itself off

Just as your skin does

As it writhes in the pain.

Shovel up! Shovel down!

What do you do

When you reach a point on the clock

Pull apart the ground

Begging mercifully to be swallowed up as a hound

Nothing matters anymore

That which drove you is no more

Pain only felt

Dragging the six feet measure lower

And that tower…came tumbling down

Shovel Up! Shovel Down!

That point

You just cannot recognize the figures

As you dig

And shove

That line you cross

To hang yourself on your cross

As you lay in a calculated box

Because all you feel is the pain

Shovel up! Shovel down!

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

February 18th ,2015.

With David Obadha.

I have this little book where I always write my thoughts in

But only what I think is important will ever go in

The less insane less disturbing are the few that find a place in

No need to scare anyone out

Sometimes it’s all about the love and how that’s happening

This I tore out for you.

I shall keep every hole wide open

Every entrance into my whole agape


With every knock

Every thump and push

It may be you I spread myself for

And in the heart of all the

Commotion that exists around me

The only thing I ever wanted to be or do

No worries, no cares

Just the occasional air that fills

My heart with the proverbial skipped beat

My mind with the infernal hallucinations.

I shall keep my eyes lucid

So that you may see their emptiness

For I disgorged my collection of feel

From the trade

And as I look into…

Rahja, Owino, Lee, Rehema, Oga and Peters

Shall I see the hope

Of one day adding our dear Wanjiku

Or will it be Darryl?

I shall want you to know

That I felt you even before you chose me to be your daily reliever

Because just as am dying for a cure

My soul knew you would bring my suffering to an end.

But that’s enough about me,

And let’s talk about my self

Almost always stuck in a shelf

Gathering dust, dried tears, torn soul, simple mind

As I spread my legs once again

In my search

For you.

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

January 20th,2015.

It was the manner in which his lips weaved words, threaded in one ear out of the other, and only my soul understood how my mind need-l-ed him.

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

December 23rd,2014.

For the feeling yet unfelt,

when the moment finally arrives,

may it be slow but fast.

With every breath a flash

not a single tear drops,

for no regret shall be held.

May with every pulse of pain

be a reminder of the bile I bore,

and with every inch of Icey touch

warm my heart melting the frost within.

May I take with me the pain of kin

for they too

not a single tear drop

and when the moment finally arrives,

No regret be held.

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

December 21st,2014.

Call me sand

And you?

You will be air

A force of nature brought to get her

For that is how I desire your existence

Take care not to be like the wind!

Who blew me away

With his fine breeze

To faraway lands

Where we would build our stand

But only managed to carry my fine body

To the sub-Saharan desert

And baby

Don’t be like water!

That lousy liar

Cooled me with his wet temple

Serenaded me with the sky

And lit the heavens with light bolts

That woke my kin

To hear him declare his heart for me

Only to dampen my sold out soul

For a bunch of sea weeds and fish

I always knew he was a stinker

And do not get me started on Fire!

Flashed me red

Heated soft spots with ecstasy

That drove me wildly insane

But just like the rest

Burnt my particles to ashes

To start a new flame

So call me earth

And you?

You will be air

Two forces of nature brought together.

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

December 19, 2014.

I watched the sun_rise

Heard as the drums rose to a crescendo

Because I was right

At the top of the hill

Listening intently

Right foot forward

Head jerked further from my body

Heart held out to the world

Awaiting...just to...

Hear and witness her birth

Hands held out to catch

Her hurt.

But now

Here I am

Heart or better yet hurt held out in these puny


Hear it beat

Watch it bit

Listen to the thready throb and

Try catch the last drops of life that drip

And I will gladly pull out the rest for you


Hold on to this hurt

I need both hands for this one

Leave liver

I give you to my graver

The all mighty giver

Because I do not want to live for you anymore

Because your live coercion of bile

is to bitter for me to bare any more

And while you are at it

Hold on to it too

And I will gladly pull out the rest for you

Why don't I place my eyes on the isle?

Because I do not

and will not

Place my site on this sight

After all, was I not right when I wrote on that hill

As I watched my sunrise

Befall to a sunset

Because I heard and witnessed her birth

And just as I held out my puny hands to her hurt

Heard and witnessed her thready throb

Swallowed the bitter bull

And finally set my sight on her set sun.

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

November 3, 2014.

I placed the iron-box on my thigh,

hot metal against tender flesh,

let it turn the caramel to charcoal.

I lit the candle and warmed my index,

watched as my skin tanned,

felt the flame consume my finger.

I filled the basin with water and plunged my head in,

let my body panic as I fought the struggle,

let my tears drown as I sought death.

I tore my wrist against the blade,

laughed the valley away,

its explosion of the red.

I loved it.

The pain,

it reminded me of you,

the moments we shared.

No matter how much it hurt,

I loved it,

because it reminded me of you.

The painful moments,

but they were our moments.

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

November 5, 2014.

And just as that tear-drop-ped

Just as fast as I wiped it off

Clutched my nail

And scrapped off the layer from my I

To prevent it from clouding my eye

I grabbed the world

Swallowed its full splendour

Moulded the darkness.

Let us hold this gaze

Though I stare in my-lone

I promise to listen

To fathom what you hold.

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

September 9,2014.

I held it once in puny hands

Not facile to description

I held it tight in a flimsy heart

Dropped my lashes to the subjugation.

To apologize

Or jeopardize

Would be to kill the wind that once motioned to a height

Unknown to my wan body.

Fatty bun

Filling of sweetness

Feeling the warmth

That rose my dough

To that height

Unknown to my wan body.

But what does it tickle now?

I held it once

But I want not a single ounce now.

My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a

July 24,2014.

Her spirit ran to the woods,

dark and abandoned.

Her vessel she tore to bits,

piece by piece.

Did not mind the trickle that cascaded down her legs.

Never bothered with the red that painted her facade lines.

Could not dare to look at her hands,

reminded of the shame.


Her soul she sold to the devil,

damaged and degraded.

Her mind she fed to the birds,

lost and unwanted.

Nights that once cradled her to sleep,

now threaten to disintegrate every organ,

that birthed that which she runs away from.

Dares not stare it in the face,

as it reminds of the shame.


My Untitled

Sharon Kate Ng'ang'a