A fall of a future – Poem


If you won’t change your mind
You have loosely veiled your pain
And before you can see in the future
It is painless to haven’t been something
In the same vein, far from you could have known
And mightn’t know how sweet you would be
–Before you change your mind


Before it is made to your own
It can only fall far away!
And your world laden with your wishes
Whilst it is fair enough to your beliefs
To make dreams a fairy-tale
And mightn’t know how sweet it would feel
–Before you change your mind


You will call it a stone
Before you feel it soft
You will call it a shame
Before it becomes a corner stone
You have become irrational
You will lose when you don’t know
–Before you change your mind


Timeless to forget
To your profound self
That you never carried to the future!
To your founding morality
You have cast in the wild!
And mightn’t refill the spirit you have lost
–Before you change your mind

Wallowing in self-pity
In the spell of the sun you wither
And carried forth the fears to your future!
In the stint of the snow you feeble
And mightn’t have been destroyed for your weakness

–Before you change your mind

Before you change your mind, you might loose the dividends to your future. In life, where there are no return buttons, but you can change your mind, save your future now.



Religion has not solved our problems

Destroying Islamic fascism

First of all, for the first time I have seen a woman who serves the epitome of freedom-freedom that represents all that is peculiar to a realm of modern society.
Typically, she has abandoned religion to fight sin.

What do you think?
Faith represents our connection with our spirit and religion represents our connection with the world. Implying that our faith can be intact even when our connection to the world is wavered or even destroyed. People who believe in religion (perhaps those who have been nurtured under a conviction of religious traditions) are torn between the reality of the modern evolutions and religion (because religion is culture so it cannot be independent on traditions and yet evolution is reality)

Have you ever been a bit bothered by a tinge of knowledge, having thought you have been enslaved by religion?
This question perhaps will draw a line between what Zineb El Razoui called a barbarian and a person living in a modern context.

She vehemently expresses a fact that religion should not be an ultimatum. Personally I too believe that culture in its strength of being an inherent phenomenon that regulates our behaviour has no justification whatsoever to control the changes that come with human evolution…so we have to take it truthfully as though the Bible does not change with time because its message is only a fundamental message of God

Zineb El Razoui former Charlie Hebdo journalist and a French Moroccan writer has a realistic argument that truly represents a modern time. She was born of and raised in a moslem family, but that did not predetermine her ideology and proudly, hitherto hasn’t yet deterred her freedom to become indifferent from the Islamic dogma.

What point does she put across?
Its not actually a point. It’s a barrage of negations upon the larger denomination of societal beliefs, but which beliefs are those of her very own household. Her contentious book “destroying Islamic fascism” is based on the facts emanating from real life experiences even though the Islamic doctrines have stood the taste of times.

Who is she to depict this daunting paint of adversary- in the face of the Islamic fury of persecutions massive executions-and speak out loud? She has put her family to test but all in the name of standing for what she believes in.

This strong and yet soft expressive woman has a candid spirit that reveals of the unsavory teachings of the Islamic religion. She out rightly speaks about the Islamic fascism that enslaved especially Moslem women for thousands of years.

How about this…what would you think every Moslem woman thinks of…? “Other than simply for the sake of our religion, for us young Moslem girls, not a real thing that is Godly nests in our minds to convince us faithfully that hiding our natural endowments is absolutely a good thing…” She doesn’t veil because she has learned that veiling is sexism.

What is not sexism? Denying women their dreams of having a modern social fulfillment? She highlighted so many examples that would deem the Moslem ideology a subject of contempt.
Unless I can measure up to Zineb’s courage, I cannot afford to delve into her solid and candid ideas of her book to which apparently she has braved to bear the repercussions.

But what’s the point?
Are the interpreters of the scripture getting it right? Is it important to have a distinction between faith and religion so that where religion fails, faith can control .Are people willing to be enslaved by religion, or do they lack the courage to challenge?
I should frankly mention that religion should not be the ultimatum because people hide in it to get connected to the world. (That is to seek identity or ignorantly to follow instructions).

Teaching and learning about God is a spiritual endeavor that finds its place well placed in the heart of a believer. It’s all about knowing what the devil does and what God does. It’s about repentance, love, forgiveness…
Why is the congregation wandering, looking where to find a safe haven? Because people are nurtured to believe in religion other than their faith, it has become easier to be intuitive of their surroundings instead of conscience so that our behavior is rather predestined by culture.

The world is not fair, there will always be the wrong man; there will be wars, Moslem will kill, Catholics will drink and pastors will mint money. Sin is sin, it is not wise to attribute sin to the surroundings and yet our conscience lives. It’s better to condemn what is sin not what is not right and our conscience has a clear distinction between those two. Religion does not solve our problems.

Author. Nsimamukama
Proud author of the anthology “leaf of hope”

The ideas represented herein are not entirely a creation of my own, but views frankly expressed on BBCs Hard talk by the writer Zeineb El Razoui


ffg………….I am an artist, sensitive to catchy and dull parts of life. Both of you became dearly dramatic to my sense of relation.
I met your daughter a few days ago and today, I saw your picture. In 5 years’ time, when your daughter stands in the same posture, the picture will literally portray the same person.

“You truly have adorned me with your rob of glory
I walk with a flame of honour to my shadow
So I snap my feet and slough my legs in your mighty

You mothered me enough like a lioness
Each crying you treated me to your sense of humour
And I have laughed in your loudness

Your hand touched to relieve the hungry and depressed
Your benevolence has become a place to live
So I am living to give your charity

Your tongue always healed with pure kindness
Your mouth blessed with darling whispers
So I have grown into a green canopy shedding your compassion

Your heart laboured a hefty of unjust folly
Your heart that forgave without keeping pain
Has returned so I can harness harmony from your justice

I do steal a lot of your make up
I do fit in a number of your shapes and dresses,
But also I do fit in the shape of your mind.
So then I will live the exact good you are made of

Dear mother, I hardly come to terms with a biological genetic gamble. I do feel that to have become any kind of your being was from wanting to be like you. “

…………When your striking resemblances matter, we think of a wonderful replica of a great motherhood, on the flipside, we think of unfortunate rebirth of a cursed motherhood.


This piece is excerpt from the original literary gallery of my anthology, so it is unfairly incomplete although a slight meaning can be discerned.

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


IMG-20180126-WA0003A 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