Hair Thin Glass Fibres

They are coming, oh no they are here!
Just strands and strands of hair-thin
Glass fibres, causing so much hue
And no cry, landing and wanting
To be the news beat of the day
Much to the chagrin of others

In Mombasa, or is it Mtunzini,
Or Pemba, and Djibouti and, far
Away in Fujairah, or is it Mumbai, I
Forget which, nonetheless they are
Stranded, that is the strands landed
On the East African seaboard

They shall be lit up, the strands
That is, and then the bands shall
Have width, the bandwidth that is
Will take a quantum leap, not of
Faith, but of quantums, whatever
The leap, its shall be taken

Am just saying, with so much hair
And air, we should not add mohair
As in more air, no make that, eh
Back to glass, the looking one
Where we now look beautiful, for
We are finally on the digital map

No longer across the yawning chasm
Of the digital divide, we are now just
Divided by the last mile divide, as our
ISPs make false starts, since they do not
Know a thing about what we want, but
Then what’s new, except the fibre cables?

The landscape so changed, we must rise
And embrace the new technology, else
We shall remain in the dark, unlit scape
As in landscape, else we shall rotate to
Portrait, and still look gleam, not grim
Hence, the hair thin glass fibres.

Onion Peals

Layer upon layer, it has
Been unfolding, peeling off
Easily from first contact to
Current, burning the eyes
With its pungent aroma,
Cloying, and strong, leaving
The eyes watery and runny

Bulbous and purplish, shiny
On the outside, soft white
Pulp on the inside, reeking
Of onion sap, soon to be cut
And pasted to the frying pan
Where there’s instant sizzle
The hot oil chars the veggie

Clear skies abound as the peels
Come of, conundrum resolved, as
Layer after layer is shorn, and
Floated away into the horizon
Where it floats in the ethereal
Balmy, windy swept ridges away
Not to be redone, allure or no

Heading to the core, the crux
The motherlode, the hot lava
Rock that is slowly melting
As the protective layers are
Peeled off and chopped into the
Frying pan, or oven char-grilled
Until a crispy golden brown, yes

The day shall come when the inner
Pulp, will be exposed and the loud
Palpitations, panting and puffing
Will signal the end of the long
Layered structure that bravely
Stood against the foreboding
Which was actually unfounded

French Cart

A cut above the best, cut to
Fit only the finest, not of
Chamois leather, or frilly
Cotton, filling and fiery
Cutting large swathes of
The hilly country, across
The yawning canyons and to
The golden horizon yonder

Not of veal, or venison
Or the juicy steaks of sirloin
And ramp, neither T-bones nor
Top side, the cut surpasses all
Known to folklore, endearing
Even the skeptics, who seek to
Understand the quality and
Finesse of one in a kind adornment

Breaking new grounds and filling
Voids unknown before, they are
Utterly devoid of demurre, but
Shockingly alluding to hitherto
Uncharacteristic chic, from new
Ways adopted and alluded to now
Gradiose in design, subtle in
Accretion, permanently, though

Straddling the great divide
Sashaying in a carefree way
Bold, unfazed and looking
Into the sky, seemingly in
A trance, as the shimmer of
The silky threads shimmy aloft
Like a tight awning that covers
A patch to keep away the elements

From west to east, like the
Equitorial belt, sorrounding the
Verdant valley and crevaces, cut
To fit and fight off any unknown
Unfestooned, heat seeking armament
Locked to the heat signature from
The jet engines afterburn, throwing
Off any caution to the wind, forever

Whispers in the Air

Seemingly floating in the air
Worry-free and unbound
The whispers move in and
Out of our consciousness
Effortlessly, since they
Were never meant to be
Tethered to one soul

Fleeting across the space
Yonder, making inroads
Where before only a yawning
Chasm existed and gaped
Openly, at all and sundry
Unflinching in its glare
Almost as if in despair

Taunting the status quo,
Breathing a new life to
The daily drudgery, that
Seems never ending, yet
The whsipers in the air
Make it bearable and an
Event to look forward to

Scaling newer, better heights
Daily, never backing down
Raw, emotive, fortuitous
No embellishments at all, as
The whispers in the air
Seek to calm the jittery
Bundle of nerves, forever

Turning new pages daily, and
Slowly etching an indelible
Mark on the grey matter, in
Recesses yet unreached, ever
Creating new awareness daily
The whispers in the air
Conquer and consume, bliss!

Listen, Listen, Listen

Svelte, smooth as silk, running
Rustling, sultry as the hot savannah
Afternoon, whispering and cooing
Like a lovelorn dove, perched
On a loft, lofty and carefree
Is the sound of the voice

In all directions at once, nimbly
Permeating the inner reaches of
Consciousness, both awake and not
Enveloping the silence within
Is the sound of the voice

An inner cry, like the halidon
Seeps through the recesses, and
Cracks, filling every inch with
Syrupy smoothness, like honey
Dripping from a golden honeycomb,
A vast honey filled catacomb

Across the plains it wafts
Wisps of hot air, breathed
Into the channels and lifted
Out to the inner reaches, to get
Away and reach out across, to
Touch in a way never before

Reaching a cresecendo, the voice
Crashes into the piqued eardrums
Cavorting and caressing the inner
Ear, mingling with other sounds
Creating a soothing, sorrounding
Feeling, never before experienced

And it goes on to bring new, exciting
Dimensions right across the yawning
Vast plains, dry, hot, and unrelenting
But the divide not any more vast as
The gap is closed, slowly and truly
The void is closed, finally, finally
Reaching the desired end, bliss!

New Frontiers

We seek to conquer and dominate
With swords gallantly held high
Shields and body armour to our rescue
As we fight this vicious battle to secure
The new frontiers

The fuzzy logic is whirring
Churning and spewing out new
Epithets and epics, slowly but surely
Cranking and clucking laboriously
As we move forward

The cog turns and the other cog wheel’s
Tooth get caught in the web of the first and
Turns the entire second cog wheel, round
And round as the entire mechanism
Winds slowly and tenaciously

We are fighting to win
The new frontiers left
Since we are fearless as well as
Peerless and we came here to conquer
Not to be ashamedly vanquished

————————————–

As I wrote the poem above I kept asking myself what I was trying to say …. actually I could not answer myself and it doesn’t matter. Let the mystery remain, I will decipher it one day. What matters is that I wrote it, because if it can be written, I will write. Period.

Why do we blog?

Why do we blog? 

Is it because we can? Is it because we can’t not blog?
Is it so that we can brag? Is it becase blogging is big?
Do we even know what a blog is? And a vlog? And a hog?
And a frog? And a flog? And a glog? And a phlog?
As in photos blog?

Do pigs fly? Why not? Why am I deviating from blogging
To hogging? As in writing about hogs? Or is it eating?
Or taking up everything? As in hogging the headlines?

May be I should be a road hog, and blog about it. Hog as
In Harley Owners Group, not as in pig hog. What is hog?
I should also hog the Fortune List of Richest People, but
Is it necessary? To be on the list that is? Who will read
And marvel at the wealth, if we are all on the list?

Is this about blogging, hogging, Fortune lists, or what …
Does it matter? I am just writing as it flows from my grey
Matter, but does it matter if the matter is really grey? Is
It even grey? Or is it just another hoax, or just hogwash?
Why does hog keep appearing? May be I should title this piece
Hog, or HOG, or og, as in hog without the h

Why do we blog and write such things as these? I do not know
But you must blog, blog and hog. Hog and blog. Blog hog.
Whatever, this is is really …………. writer’s block.

Sub Routines

When programmers write code, they interleave
Many complex messages in them, using nested
Loops, and-ifs, end-ifs, if-else but they are always
Careful not to have an endless loop, or a
Continuous loop that never exits to go to the
Next sub-routine, as this could loop forever
Unless that is necessary for the application
Functionality and sustainability

If sub-routine A states that certain
Global variables must be declared, then
This rule must be adhered to since
A variable cannot be used if it has not
Been declared as this would cause the
Sub-routine A to either return an error
Lock or exit prematurely, else loop endlessly

Once all the global variables in sub-routine A
Have been declared, they can then be used in
That sub-routine and this will subsequently
Lead to the end of the sub-routine and the
Exit into sub-routine B

Within sub-routine B, there shall be more
Global variables declared up front and
Then these variables are used within that
Sub-routine B until it comes to a logical
End, but the sub-routine does not need to
Exit as it could be designed to loop endlessly
All this is by design, naturally

Floating Thoughts

As thoughts flit through the mind
New wisps of ideas floating
Crystals of conscious clear lines
As new beginnings sparkle
A wide smile cracks

The mind knows, and needs
To know, where its being
Steered by these thoughts
Albeit seeming abstract
It makes sense to it

When all is done and gone
The mind remains alert
To the possibilities
That abound, around
And about, in all ways

So it goes on and on
Taking a life of its own
Transformation now almost
Complete, and new life
Springs, abundant, arise
From the netherworld

Running Wild

Running Wild
by M.R Karugi

Run, run, run, run
Feet shod in soft shoes
Cushioning every step
Run, run, run, run
And get away from
A sedentary lifestyle

Crisp air flows through
Flared nostrils
Gaping mouth gasping
For the next breath
Is as important as the
First step taken

Muscles rippling and straining
Heart pounding and pounding
Adrenalin shooting everywhere
Sweat streaking through the body
Droplets turning into rivulets
Cooling on the skin as the cold air wafts

The future is bright
Nigh as the impending dawn
Awaiting to be embraced
By those who position
Themselves to receive
The best life has to offer