You’ll never know what love is,
Until you board a twilight bus,And see your image in the mirror,
And the trees fall quickly behind,
While the mocking lights stand unreachable in the distance,


Dear author, This is for you from my mid page. With due intimacy of the versatility you have bestowed upon me.With amazement and awe of your humility that cast shadows on all my faults. You who took pleasure in writing my story, penning my life, holding me at the Palm of your hands.This is for you…

Introversion- My Great Curse?

EVERYONE SHINES, GIVEN THE RIGHT LIGHTING – SUSAN CAIN When people say I’m great they don’t mean they like me.Perhaps they like how I write or paint or smile.Anything but me. ‘Hello,I am Belinda. Belinda Mugambi. I am introverted,INFJ to be specific.That basically means that I am the 1% of the population whom you don’t…

Keep Your Real.-Letting Go of Numbing and Powerlessness.

Two of the most natural ways to see humanity are in a child and an old person.I often marvel at either of the two whenever our paths cross.If it be not knowing a thing or knowing it all their take in life is always a muse. image:Pinterest What amuses me most as I assume it…

Take me Back.

Take me back to the cloudless night, 

And the rain and louvred roof

Grasp the smell of wet dust for me, and mist from the window.

Then breathe on the window now and draw on it, the scent of your company. 



. A dialogue He caught her by surprise when He called her beautiful. Beautiful! This skin that couldn’t pick a shade? Beautiful! This flourishing crop of acne? Never lines for brows and a stain of yellowing teeth? Who was he calling beautiful, like a second name? Eyes that couldn’t even stand the shame of this…


SoulScape.2 ☆☆☆•• Bubbles. Just puffed up balls with thin walls.Puffed with air for the record.Beautiful?No doubt.But just bubbles either way. Just puffed up balls with thin walls which are bound to burst in seconds. Ever thought/looked at bubbles and thought how fragile beauty can be?Is actually?Well I did and here are my thoughts, there’s nothing…


Home for me is the smell wet ground, dirt pooling outside as the rain falls on the sheets like a thousand bare feet above. Home for me is the hint of the blooming queen of the night. And towering mango and pawpaw trees above. Whistling to the tune of the wind. Home is the distinct tapping on the door that declares dad is home.


BOOK DIALOGUES- Another intimate step. Dear author,This is another from my missed page. One that someone actually plucked out in one of the ‘lending missions‘.I remember you standing at the door taking me in…Again.Nodding when he said I’m not telling my story well enough as you want it told. So here I am taking another…


You are 10 or 12 or 15 and you have your whole life ahead of you, or at least you think so.You will beat all these odds that are so constantly implied to you. Have the dream home and eclipse the world on tours. Have enough to have and spare and well be a better…

What Do You Do With Silence?

What do you do with silence? When it taps on your door , Lets itself in and closes the door behind? Whats that unsettling feeling in permanence? In knowing you can’t unbolt and leave? Have you cared so much about the twillight. The light? Or is it the chirping that you lost? The incessant traffic…