Ha! fresher at medical school

Politics is ostensibly dubbed a dirty game
Although Medicine is famously a dirty gold mine.
Excused, any fresher is naturally sunk in a political ditch
The fear is just digging a dirty gold mine.

For thy have sought not yet
Nor known the resilience there is

In politics, expectations are as free as gifts!
Their hands are poised to scramble
For, everything might come unto them

When even rich, all yearn for something
For their quests remain insatiable

In politics, they are lucky
Their ideas are spontaneous. Freshers don’t think
They don’t make mistakes
To judge them is inconsequential

Once you are there, the fear is being a dirty gold miner
The cadavers are unclean blah….blah…

In politics, no man is small.
They are larger than a stack of silver

There’s much to wander in the unknown
Although the corridors are numbered

Nothing to care
The walk of shame dwindles unknown

In politics, there’s much to ridicule
The fools are many.

So, medicine roars with dirty breath
But subtly a beautiful gamble.
For the years go by! Once we were like you are now
And the beauty is in the wealth within a “fresher”



tribute to freshers


vanity mirror

Vanity mirror
Is deservedly a force to reckon with.
That mirror tells my face, shows the movements of my body and tells me to shine a spot in the limelight.
From it I discern my shapes and etch a character
I avert my shame and predict my chances.
And because every man loves beautiful, I leap to the shrine of mirrors where my physical being awaits to be loved

Although, MY INSIDE remains unscathed, no man is averse to it.
Whatsoever it is-dirty or stinky, it is peaceful.
Mirrors have truly a reflection of ourselves
Where the outside shines more is indeed a thrill for the outside

“I want to see myself
I want to love my body
I want to see the shine on my skin
Grease with rich cosmetic
My hair falls graciously onto my shoulders
My breasts are bold and lazy
My lips as succulent as a straw berry
The angelic smile indeed as pure as a divine given”

All yours! Sofia…

A flash of beauty, strikes hard, where man shudders
And pounces back and forth to sniff, seize or run away.
It’s the magic of a star-struck.
No one hates the beautiful. They are enviable
Angelic, innocent and naïve
Sometimes scary and ugly

On the flipside,
When mirrors are broken;
“MYSELF” is no more than a distortion
I am left with blind spots, moulded into ambiguous being
That, which is unpleasant,
that seems to have escaped from the inside
The thorns of my roses begin to prick into my flesh
So I keep ears at end hoping I am not trading myself
For the patches that I do not see
I am truly afraid of not feeling beautiful

But where does beauty come from?
Of course in mirrors and bodies, art and design, fashion and glamour
And also in music and poetry…
In colour, light, soil and water, in fauna, flora…
Beauty sprouts from triumphant heroism
Emerges from the pinnacles of victories
From the princes and princesses of the earth,
The charming that are born with silver spoons in their mouths

Did it come in the delight of Noah to his loyal dove?
___The womb of the virgin hand maid of the Lord?
The water of life between Jesus and the Samaritan woman?
Pedigree of the humbled Mother Teresa of Calcutta?
Or, the valour of a legion that became of Nelson Mandela?

Rather in the breath of a virgin who heaves with a sigh of life
When her man hastens to salvage her soul from the pangs of doubt
And tells, “Sofia, you are beautiful…”

___in a mother that sings a lullaby for her baby to sleep
In the voice that soothes the pain of a hapless child
Or in the hand that gives to the hunger of a beggar

When one morning you decide to see THE INSIDE of you,
To look for yourself in yourself
When Vanity mirror has no character nor wisdom
When no one, but yourself

What shall you find?

In bold, Beauty,………………………………………comes from spirit.




To a love a moon

To a love a moon

For the love of God…!
To have loved and lost is not better than never to have loved at all
then…I’ll fold my elbow to the ledge of my window
where I stare at the dusking sky

Oh the moon, of the quiet skies!
Hallowed be thy love…I have not felt in a long time
Your stars that fall graciously and glow all night long
Scent your love to me like the pollen of dawn
I keep smelling it as though I can feel you

You have gone far away from my significant other
That much I can I resent your distance
How much more can I love in wishes?
How can I understand I can love again?

Oh the moon of the quiet skies!
I cry all night like a hungry baby
The exquisite pain of love…
That has become delicate to say
has taken its on me
The night will be long, days linger over my head
My love has faded like an old paint
But I stand in my cold feet, it will hurt and pain
And only then our lost love is not in vain

Oh the moon of the quiet skies!
When it was warm and beautiful, you ran away
…I never saw that coming!
Until now, I have not overcome your ways to depart
Once you were gone, I am loath to love
The she lovers of the earth are unsavoury
So I have kept wandering in solitude

Oh the moon of the quiet skies!
Once you were gone, I dream a lot more;
“The queen slipped from the edge and rolled down the cliff
Down at the bottom of the earth
Where the demons of lust awaited to seize
She clutched on a fig, whence she was trapped
So I flew wing my wings to salvage my queen”

Oh the moon of the quiet skies!
Let me tell you Flora’s secret
She feigns her love for the king!
She runs to the shore to find her true love
I would then utter a wail and yet she beckoned on me
She flings away her wings and floats on the ocean

Oh the moon of the quiet skies!
Save me the fantasy of true love
My mother said, it’s not a fairy-tale
If I wait, it falls once in a blue moon
I am afraid though to hold my breath if I might die young
So give me hope that holding on a little longer is
A way to love again

Oh the moon of the quiet skies!
Only then you were mine alone
I tread to think of you much longer than I can hope
You must have wanted as much as your shine.
So you have gone…
___to love in abundance
Your secrets were far mightier than I knew
Your graces were more sacred than myself

So you have gone.

To love a moon is not better than never to have loved at all.

Author : Nsimamukama          Creative nonfiction writer, poet and blogger


The power of a picture


A picture is a story
About someone, about a place, about time, about history
It’s a place to remember… it’s a person to remember…
It’s a fond memory of childhood, youthful and yesterday
It’s a precious preserve of time passed

A picture is a translation of language
It speaks with a décor of words galore
When it is altruistic, it’s a monument of wisdom
When it is artistic, it’s widely pungent
When it’s prudent, it is larger than decorative
Then it’s elaborate and larger than a mountain

When it is sensitive, it is sophisticated
When it’s romantic, it glitters its teeth in white
And tames with “a smile unforgotten”
When it mimics, it blends in the colour of nature
When it is critical, it goes back in time, to borrow a tinge of tradition
How wider than a novel!

A picture is sensible with a truth undisputable!
Oh! It gives her a credit peculiar to the intellect
___To be liken to the secret ingredients of glamour
It gives her the power to be known
To be mindful of thought
To be thoughtful of choice

Sometimes, a picture says about people…
It scents their aura of wisdom
Of course it reveals their inner sense of art
Borrows recipes of fashion to the outside
And paints their natural flairs in sweetness
It lies sometimes but keeps its secrets

A picture is nothing more than yourself
It’s everything about your wisdom
It is wholesome when you are beautiful
It is beautiful when you are truthful
A picture paints your true story on the hoarding
And the enemies are the secret admires.



Ambition as potent as a flowing river, will find bypass whatsoever

Rappers know it

A lifetime stream of dreams


Ambition is priceless.


Mother’s dream

For her child, leap to prosperity

Leap to everything

Nothing would change a mother’s dream

Miner’s grapple on their shovel

A poet’s crave of romantic flair

A stare on elusive lover’s lips

Nothing would waver their energy


Like a thousand nights of a dream


A reverberating fantasy of desire

A fleet of same wishes

Nothing would change hope


An infinite sentence of one phrase

A rhyme of a hymn chorus

An echoing sound of one word

Nothing would change tone


No better days than tomorrow?

Ambition is a liar

Beautiful liar

Nothing would change expectations


Obsession of time telling

Obsession of time telling

Obsession of time telling

Nothing would change fantasy



——————Ambition is priceless——————-

About last night




China roses, flora’s secret, wild child, tea house, marbles halls, Caribbean blue-sang in Portuguese, French, English…-sound as sweet as they mention.


Where romance began in the Garden of Eden, when God was poised to bless Adam who had crossed his arm around Eve’s matching flora’s secret, Enya would sing her splendour of romance as the only voice in heaven! God was a priest, Adam was a king only because Eve was his queen and also because Enya was singing for the couple, in attendance, it was me……………best weddings!!!!!

My dream is over.


I wish to go back and take with you folks to bear me such a wonderful witness. And to be born with that conception of what a sumptuous blend of music and romance would taste for a wedding couple matching down the aisle.

Though I won’t feel wedding every time I play these songs but like any song whose rhythm and poetry I find fascinating would elicit emotions of love, tranquillity… which inevitably would take me to dream.

Tonight when I was sleeping, Enya was singing China roses as I curled my body in the warmth of the night.

She plunged me into peaceful slumber only to feel angels sandwiching my bed with slow sad sound of blues, poignant voices and symphonic orchestras for lullabies galore all my night.

Drowned in a deep ocean of fantasies, my thoughts all succumbed to its fine rhythm as I keep listening to her tender voice filtering in my ears.

In my sleep I can still hover my hand over the touch pad for the third time to rewind the song… I would maintain that powerful charisma pervading deep into my sleeping thoughts

And then later on I would dream like a baby.

I love Enya.

The ecstasy in that music is perhaps one of those elusive endowments God bestowed for the pleasure of my soul.

If not Enya, Benedictine Monks of Santo Domingo de Silos-will deluge my night with the nostalgic spiritual angelic hymns of Gregorian Chanting.

I find a lot to enjoy in extraordinary sound of music though one thing for sure, I bet if I could have transcended the vast ordinary experiences of musical freaks.

Sometimes I will leave a collection shuffling one by one throughout the night or a one or two classic slow non-stops.


Music in sleep is like a sound track in a movie

For those by any chance your ears open at dawn, slow, tender and low music is the best feeling of night.


And whereas the movie stars to whom my reverence escapes in the day, it returns in my dreams in the night sleep. It’s me playing my favourite role. Ha!

The last time I played Whitney collection, it dawned on me that she should have been my favourite every night and yet there was Adele (but this is the same feeling that I get most of the time. All these tracks make me at least feel a Liam Hemsworth in a moment.

Every song is a good song anyway. It depends on the circumstances

Ideally, no music is bad music although it will not kill to concede that the last time you played, I found you listening to “bad music”

Well, this time we should agree and I tell you some truth. Good music is as hard to find as to know but still agreeably a food of the soul.














The magical spree of SIPI

img_0069It wasn’t until a savagely fierce storm blew its mist to the back of my body that I felt exorcism of divine healing.

I needn’t more than just a little and cheap retreat to the strange destination to dispel my evil me and hoping to bring back with me my little soul.

Today was my vengeance to the evil one. To make them feel completely unworthy-to make me feel smarter and wiser than their cartel. For, derailing the path of a wandering innocent soul wasn’t a feat to pass unchallenged, more so unforgotten.

I looked up the towering rock-90metres or so and a tough relentless fall of nature storming over, down into the stones, there was I afraid of life

img_0031So terrifying -the wild sound of horror that compromised my flamboyant demeanour

And while then in the feel of extreme cold, I felt my spirit running away and I could muster unconsciously a strange spirit of renewal. For I knew the old yesterday was gradually sinking irrevocably deep under my feet.

Then again I fell in silence pondering in the sound of the streaming falls.

Today, I was walking in the world of terror. I saw the fury of the wild. The yelling waters and the giant stones. The empty rocks that never breed a green plant. The silent weeds that never wither.

And I was afraid. Of course I was

Yet they made me feel unscathed among them. I stood tall above them and some short below them. So honoured at least

I walked and combed through them, touched them and they made me feel a master of my ego.

Today I fell not only for the falling waters

But also for the fact that I can subdue and yet indeed conceding its invincible magic of existence


When I stood still and helpless down at the furious sound of the trampling falls, I dint see my power. I didn’t see my strength either and only did I need to know who I was to the earth and more so who I was to God.

But I felt a tinge of petty for my own soul to imagine my entire life in the measure of a grain of pollen waiting to be displaced desperately by a passing air.

And I heard “the long time traveller of the Wailing Jenny’s” resound in my ears.

I was scared for a while, but more was I immensely humbled. I have to be inspired only if I get scared of strange things

And then I saw someone like me emerging in the centre of the rainbow and a few angels yelling the mighty power of the Sipi falls.

Today, I came out of this water wishing to go back every weekend

                                                               But one thing,

 I won’t climb those ladders again.

And where else in the world did I meet such a generous day!

Finding new life in the terrain and their plants, in the waters and their stones.

And looking for love in the roses and butterflies.


Little wonder, these little souls have loved just as much.

 And remembering, once back then, I was just like him, adorned with all this sweet demeanour

Evoking the rich nostalgia that too I attribute my visit to Sipi.

Altogether makes my trip worthwhile. Sincerely unforgettable!

IMG_0309.JPGThis flower and many other ones 

I saw them, I keep reminding myself that fashion is as infinite as nature and too in much the same way as art

Inheriting thus far the similar virtues of creative non-fiction.

My inspiration is then coming from deep in the silence of life and far away from where I drink Guinness.

I won’t give up the flare for my poems then, neither the spirit of my art for as long as my eyes will see the red petals sprouting out in the green of the fine green.



 IMG_0243.JPGThe fairy-tale of love has never ceased to be.

To some, it remains hidden in its mystery and unseen forever. But nature knows it in depth and beckons us unselfishly.

Where in the world it never were, its wealth abound in the trees, shrubs and woods of the jungle is a wonder to reckon with.

And by the way, love is only mutual and then, it will naturally infiltrate you with its pleasure, so short-lived, absurdly just as orgasm. 

Sipi falls is a not a big land with strange topography. It simply will charm you with its magical falling storm

Tender, bright and green




I have been wandering

Looking for everything

And my heart stolen

My beauty


and power

Where is my soul?



In the midst of indigenous colour

 And natural aroma

Let me thrust my eyelids

See the wisdom of young birds

Fine architecture that dwells the sparrow

and i will find my soul


The message of cranes that flock together

Of towering anthills

Of rivers that never cease to flow

 The green leaves that light the colour of peace

Of a country

And i will find my soul




In the shadow of them

I look brighter than ever!

Look at me!


Under the light that filters from the green

And fresh odour of meatless flesh

Deep down in the green

And I will find my soul


 Red roses-fleckless. Abound

A décor sandwiching my skin

With a tender lotion on the tip of my nose

I breathe nothing but them

Of natural and contagious fragrance

And I will find my soul




Magic and power of love. I feel

Look at me!

I am in love for the first time

I am.

That love that is painful!

That I won’t let go

And I will find my soul


And let me be

And let my hair blow away by air

For I give in to thy gentleness of quiet and fury

Winds that wave the coolest air

 The pride I seek is here

Flatter of the wild sounds

Seduces me, and whole at last

To the bottom of my ego

And I will find my soul



Thorns of painful ends

But alas! Of compassion of

 Harmless stings!

Iam plunging in the virtues

 Of the distant allies


Sipi falls Kapchorwa, Uganda


Mystery of nature!


And I will find my soul



Where is it?

The agony of yesterday

That that I came with

The sorrowful half of me. Dwindling

The painful past. Dwindling

Today I see the evil one. Dwindling

And yet at once I feel freedom

As though a divine touch

At last I feel new again

And I will find my soul


No memories but thoughts


Thinking nothing but long stares

Nowhere but every where

A bubble of mist dropping under a leaf

A bee throbbing the petal of a bud

A chameleon camouflaging onto the green aloe Vera

Or a nest sagging on a fig

And the other on a grey stalk

And I will find my soul




Hearing nothing but everything

I wish to sound with them

A barrage of alien noises

The birds of the air

The gentle whizzing of canopies

The rush of white, canning falls

And peaceful air above my shoulder

And I will find my soul



Why did I hate a termite?

Or the sound of falling rain?

Or the bite of a stinging bee?

But I hate the sound

Of a hovering mosquito

I hate myself for not being me

But I found a rose today

Tender, bright and green

Peaceful, harmless and compassionate

My soul is here

……………………When I crossed past the towns, houses and people, I felt my loneliness and lost in the world until I found myself breathing the air of the red rose and listening to the music of birds in the trees. And then I turned and saw a tuft of spines on my shoulder, and a fleet of ants crossing over my foot. Without feeling haunted, I found myself freed from the agony of my world in a home alienated far away from the human genome….and then my love for the wild nature became natural and true.

Visit those falls, woods, and jungles, you will find your soul

Those beautiful pictures, I found them on my camera after a friend had visited Sipi falls in Kapchorwa Uganda. Their originality inspired me so immensely that I wrote this poem. As a lover of  nature, this is what I never let go.


Trouble in this world, a poem

Amy K. Sorrells

I suppose faith would indeed be seen as weak,

those who pity us

who rely on the unseen. For true strength

rises up on the wings of broken

hearts and flesh, invisible,

not because of what we have done but

because of who HE is.

the true

pity is for the ones who do notknow

who cannotseethe goodness

in the land of the living,

who cannot help

but mock and reopen the stripes of the


who died for even them. No

justice comes

from arguing about the shade of red to a blind man.

And so we traipse

on, the bruised and weary land

I love thirsting for the one drink

they refuse to taste.


View original post


For hours, I have been grappling with a Rwenzori bottle, hands taking turns, gulping mouthfuls of water, until it is heated up from my hands. The sun rays are descending down onto my face and filtering through the width of my Afro bed. Drips of sweat are slowly emerging from beneath my hair and sloping down my forehead. I have contended enough heat under the scorching sun.

Meanwhile, angrily trying to fend off these blocker-boys from clinging onto my bags-pushing me and almost, wrecking my luggage as they scramble to get me loaded on their dirty vans. It annoys when at often such moments I won’t avoid getting myself stuck in trouble.

Why on Ugandan street won’t I walk in my own freedom to board a taxi?

Sprouting from every corner, a sudden grip straining my arm is a stack of rough hands grabbing from these hustler boys. Warning! Getting out from the grip of these sweaty and oily and yet still rough palms must always have to cost a little waste of some energy, sometimes some property and would be time, but for today, it is not a problem because I already was prepared to lose a lot of it.

Whether or not need help, these boys will always run after you until one of them has to eventually win and then to finally see myself wowed by a strange dark spotless cork crowing from the hands of my neighbour. Like always, sitting with birds in the car is something usual-a one rare passenger he hen on his road trip! I rarely see dark corks! Well, today I have to be next to one.


Oh my God! He jumps off the hands of this old woman and staggers a round above our shoulders before he makes a crush landing back into the hands of the troubled woman.

Oh my eyes! My nose! Oh my ears! How about my shirt!

What happens when you travel with birds in the car, or sometimes a small goat that moves swaying its tail in your face? Ha! Well then, we would assume as well; in other vans; it might have been a greedy pig striving to snatch my “rolex” or a huge perhaps pregnant sheep troubled with inertia every now and then colliding her nose back and forth head on with mine!      Sh*t!             And that’s a typical Ugandan voyage whether or not you are clad in busuuti, gomesi or a fine shinning shoe- for as long as the many times of having avoided suffering a cost of your private means would cost you as much.

By this time, as I brace myself for more trouble ahead, a terrible phobia of a daunting trip is gradually consuming me, wondering if where I am seated is just going to keep only one half of my ass in comfort of soft sponge! And that the other half -irking-would keep in such a terrible plan of comfort!

Where else in this continent do we share such peculiar skits of travel? Sometimes it’s not just a hapless painful ass, my nose; it’s a foul of stinking breath from someone’s mouth and a faulty window that fails to open for a cool air or a loud phone call stuffing unsavoury messages into my ears and more often a thunderous bung when the van suddenly hits a pot hole and so on…

Reaching for possible help, in the hope that the conductor offers a relieving option and then you yell a pathetic tone.

“Conductor, ahabwenki nimutupakira nk’enshayo z’omwani? blah blah…”(why are you fitting us like bags of coffee?)

At first even when he hears, he won’t listen and then you keep on pressing him -until tending to ruffle his feathers? His roar. You won’t like it.

Kigezi, you only have to bark at the conductor because whether or not they will bark at you. Your darling pleasantry often has to fall on a hard rock. Those who sympathize will nap you only if you are ready to contend a breath of molecules bubbling in the gaseous exchange between you and him. If you too sniff some herbs, together you might get along, but if otherwise, you might collapse!

If you won’t endure the pain any further, you may not collapse though. One by one gets to their destination and there is the hind seat, you may shift to join a cluster of neighbours on the other side snoring in the day with their heads falling back on the head rest and mouths to the air, saliva oozing onto the chins.


But one more snag; those hind seats if you recall, are so resting right on the tires that their movements usually have to influence your own in a case when unsteadily you run over a hump. And then you will jump and jump and jump… and each time you might hit your head on the roof.
Today am heading to the other side of Western Uganda, and after spending about my entire morning lamenting, mumbling and yelling and sweating off and dusting off here I am finally pulling off to a finer surface of the road en route to Kigezi.

I have been raving and ranting for the past stint of my journey but here, even though I am not seated in the ideal comfort, I am greatly soothed by the serenity of nature that passes by the window. I can easily settle with my past ready to forget the ordeal of those appalling hours and enjoy this journey henceforth.

Today coincidentally is Earth day. I did know it for my first time in one of my Facebook notifications this morning. I get to go then and find out how interesting this is gonna be.



I find my neck turning all around and my face mellow with a subtle smile, though sometimes I am out of control and if no one else is paying attention, I will utter the excitement to my own self. Even if people may wonder if this young I could be a victim of soliloquy or so. Take my smile or not, I am passionately in to what I am seeing right now. Period!

The wonders of nature! Though this time I seem to be all by myself alone wondering. The seductive nature and all its charms adorning a look of ecstasy on my face.

If you heard of places like Rwenjeru, Muhanga, Kamwezi, Kamatunguru, they don’t make sense in your geography. Today, I will tell you what illumines my integrity as a Ugandan of a very rich African heritage. I will tell you how I keep my lips retracted, teeth exposed for hours smiling broadly at the blend of culture, topography and mankind. I will tell you how I gaze in awe and shed a tear of admiration.

God’s people, land, plants and peculiar skies, all of them I keep a little record of pictures and videos in my phone and I can’t wait to be back home and share my inspiration with you.

Where I have reached now, I am amazed! I thought it was the old fashion of the walking sticks! Every man is holding one. Initially indigenous as it appears, it’s a lot strange and worth a wonder. I used to regard it an old custom of the cattle keepers a few thoughts ago before I realized that indeed before now, I was so naïve. Later on, it filters harmoniously into my mind that such a localized custom remind us of rich culture as my eyes get acclimatized to seeing one man after the other with more and more sticks snapping the terrain. I even appreciate how they walk with them into the car. This is so beautiful for me to see!

There’s a lot more for me here. Sometimes I wonder how in all this time, I have been far away from my own neighbourhood only to be inspired just a few days ago!

Well this is not surprising, just appreciating how diverse my country is.

The spectacle of the country side is keeping me awake when suddenly I turn my head round and instantly through the window upwards I see a towering steep of rock that appears as though about to trample on our vehicle! I can’t help but think magic, wondering how these roads were carved out of this scary amount of rock!

Further up front, I see a narrow white lining winding about a wide hill and I think am looking right ahead of where am going. It’s a long distance though the gentle meander of the road spiralling round the wide mass of hill will create such a semblance of a short distance as though about to reach where I see. And far from below lies a natural, beautiful aerial spectacle of homes seen as like in an air craft. Oh my God! Who doesn’t like this view?


Speeding along a long regular stretch of tall trees standing on both sides of the road, I see through them a shining spot of the setting sun which at last I see falling gently above a hill a speck on my distant right. I have been watching this sun as it passes ahead and changing directions.

I have been watching the beautiful roadsides of my country coloured with a dominant greenery of blossoming shrubs, gentle inclining planes…and long winding roads which little of them am sure will stick loose in my mind. I must attest to the testimonies and acclaim the common Glory that paints the brand of the “Pearl of Africa”. Sometimes I believe that the most beautiful places in the world are not the ones we know or those we hear about, but perhaps the ones that we have not yet seen.


As I speak now, I have been connected with nature and am in love with someone like it or someone else I do not know, or at least I feel like two strangers that have fallen heels in love on a journey. I feel like there is something that has happened to my life. How do I share my feelings? I feel I would like to. And if you will resonate with me, you will understand that whatsoever meets the eye in the in vitro art of mankind, the original earth shall always remain the ultimate offertory with the most beautiful things to admire.


To love yourself and others is sometimes a strength born of the gifts of loving and connecting with nature. The emotions and the smile it elicits are as a result of being in love with them-a spiritual connection with God’s creation and connects and relates with your strengths to the people that are connected with you. I felt it that way.