By Lenah Kerubo

I feel my self stretch,

Till no more is left to sketch,

Truly truly, judge a book by its cover not,

I wish i had taken notice ,

Of all the small indications,

That branded him guilty,

All justifications,

He found necessary to tell,

Little did i know ,

I was slowly tumbling into hell


I remember his chiseled face ,

His smile somehow managed to awaken every cell,

And prison my  every fibre in a cell,

Small things mattered the most,

What a chivalrous man i had,

The way he held the door for me,

Expressed little gestures of affection  in public,

Pulling the chair for my little self,

Offering his jacket when  cold,

He was my pillar,

My tower when i could not reach,

The shelf,

His tall toned body came in handy.


Even a new cloth, gets old and tatters

And so was our love,

Or can i call it lust?

In it came rust

I remember the painful shove,

A thunder cracking slap followed,

Or was it a clap?

And why would he be clapping,

When my head stung with pain,

My eyes started to rain,

A river, flowing down my sorrows

And how did my poor self, end in this hollow?


“You. Are. A. Useless. Bitch!” he barked

Each single word followed by a painful kick

“How could you stoop this low?”

“I hate you!!”

“I hate you!!”

“I hate you!!”

The words kept ringing in my head

The H word, hurt the most,

Oh Lord why me?

How could he be deceived by the useless pictures

Someone had found right

To photoshop, manipulate

And ruin our love?


I clutched my bleeding self,

The pain in my heart ,

Non-comparable to any physical hurt,

Tumbling towards my hut,

I remised of our perfect love,

Of which was deeply felt but nobly told,

Our cherished friendship,

Someone had found right to crush its ship.

Truly truly judge a book by its cover not.


Lightening, rumbling thunder,

Gave me a shudder,

But gave me hope ,

That the sun shall rise again ,

And paint a rainbow.






Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.