Behind These Digital Eyes

Originally penned on 26 Aug 2016 by Mama Rocks at The Alchemist Bar.

There is no expanse enhanced by our chance to find things in instants,
We live in a world where the coolest stunts are 2 clicks away, despite happening in lands distant,
It’s overwhelming to know that there is so much to consume and it’s whole,
It’s scary to realise that our eyes no longer manifest as windows to our soul;
when everyone is so concerned with their phones, it’s hard for those parts of us to be so prone.


Communicating is so digital — you can tell that from all the digits stalled on AMOLED screens,
You hear it in the laughing and screams in blurry, snapped-up scenes,
It has become so much easier to be heard, that the problem is being seen,
Will we ever truly be free, if all we seek imprisons us indefinitely?


Yours (even) in cryostasis,

Evans Mbora Campbell.


In this journey — a treacherous, easy-to-deem-malicious tale of a tourney,
We win and lose, bleed so profuse and often feel drowned in blues,
But with you, a friend so true that my feelings are see-through from your point of view,
I feel amani; no mendacious, cheesy-to-the-point-of-sin, fictitious urafiki,
And for as long as I possibly can, I shall hold on to that.

One love to you as you start a new journey my brother Raj,
Rooting for you is none other than,

Evans Mbora Campbell.
Mr. Bromance🙂


From the Negative Side

My problem is that I like and like that become consumed; go down without a fight. I want to cry and lie beside you at night and watch as the sun disappears in a dance of light beams — twilight. In my dreams I see you touch me in my sleep as if you want to keep me there so you can always have me in a moment when I’m at peace. You whisper with your kiss and through even the gentle kicks of your feet when you sleep, I see the fire of feistiness with which I fell so hard and fast for.

You don’t know this yet but I bet I could tell you of each and every instant when the sun cast its light on that one spot on your neck that I loved to peck. Yes! I stare so much at you that I know how such a detail of inconsequence about mere unification and separation of flesh is important.

I can explain in vivid detail the rough number of breaths you take in an average minute. When you shake your head I can tell when you really mean the No or if it’s a poorly-hidden, unworded Yes. I know you because I fell into a crevice that is deeper than the crease that parts your breasts. I feel you because you are the best that I will forever regret; too good for a man far from comparative — infinitive or less.

You know that time we spoke for hours about your dreams? Of the future you foresaw for you and me? I died more and more inside as your eyes flickered with so many lanterns of functions we could attend side-by-side. I died because I knew that hope lies. I died because maybe I would leave you that night, or, as I have now, left you for not being right.

I feel so inadequate that I wish I could live celibate in a god-forsaken place worthy of such an apostate. I wish I could tear out this heart of an ingrate I have allowed to sit in me and brood to no chick-ly avail. Or maybe I just wish your existence wasn’t so phony and I so lonely, hey!

From the Negative Side,

Evans Campbell.
Minus the Bride

The Visible Invisible

I saw you and was immediately off balance,
Because you were not only incredibly, as a matter of fact stunningly, beautiful,
You could also dance.
The man you were all over looked like he had better plans,
You were just a plus and his lack of focus as he immersed himself in the phone in his hand,
Was an infinite source of my disgust,
He literally just had one hand on your ass,
And the other was clearly buried deep in his masturbatory ego chant over some IM chat.
I, the typical me, came up to you momentarily,
I said “Excuse me, I’m only going to say this and be on my way (at once)”
“You’re an incredible dancer and I think you’re amazingly beautiful.”,But, alas!
The king of apathy returned,
And there you were back to him and back at it with the jiggling at your poorest excuse of a fan,
This strapping bloke with no interest in you beyond a lazily-placed hand,
And the fact that you still tried so hard,
That you were quite literally bending over for this man,
That’s that shit that makes me sad.


Oh maybe I’ll meet you again someday,
Dance with you face-to-face with my phone indescribably far away,Or maybe with indifferent species like these you’ll stay,
And in your 40s rue each wasted day.


Let’s see hey!

I’ll just be here sipping my water and praying,
That you cease to be as visibly invisible to him,
As to you I remain.


Yours perhaps never,

Evans Mbora Campbell.
The Visible Invisible.

Of Poppy and Gigi

Originally penned on 4th Feb 2016, the day before the East African Soul Train

The edges of their hairs splitting,
On the edges if their chairs they’ve been sitting,
Details of a train’s affairs persisting,
Work has been long and hard for the heroines from Berlin and Britain.


I can see the flames in their eyes,
Portentous of their victory cries in my mind,
Throughout all the din they have continually been able to shine,
Though blaming themselves is a habit they’re finding hard to decline,
All through this experience I’ve been excited,
It’s better I arrive at five.

Yours in E.A.S.Tuity,

Evans Mbora Campbell.

Missed Connections

Human beings, like expensive watches, come with their complications
Yours was that you belong to another,
Mine was that I belonged to no other
And so came the many intriguing, all-consuming situations.

We’re comfortable in our own skin when no one watches,
We’re even more at ease when everyone is around, blending in with intimacy that has no sound;
I love your hair and you’re amused by mine,
But I think what warms me up the most is the fact that I can (and can’t) say I am thine

Time is not for us to define,
But alas it has the power to shape everything we have before us,
I would love to see where this goes down the line,
So I stay, because even for the future unknown, I shan’t let this moment pass.

We met at my hour of no need,
And when I was least prone to greed,
Now I struggle but fervently heed,
my own call to stay calm in the face of your being so sweet

Just as in shallow waters one cannot row,
So can you not see the side of me I do not show,
And though you may never know how deep the rabbit hole goes,
I am beginning to understand that from it — for you — a river of love flows.

Yours on the next flight potentially,

Evans Mbora Campbell.
Flight BRBX0X0

The Ar(nxious)tist

It is in the midst of the populace,
Where others find solace in bitter rhetoric about football victories pyrrhic,
That I find myself perturbed, lost and out of place.


There is a depth to which these links do not sink,
Parts to which these sails never steer our collective ship,
So much I hear that I need not keep,
And many a time I prefer to disappear into my ink.

Banter is splendid but how often do we pander just to matter,
When of fact is the blatant mismatch of our current rant:
criticising those we only see from in front of screens in scripted scenes,
whining endlessly about media-proclaimed demi-gods that are simply human beings,
losing our tempers in defence of the seen unseen,
Always forgetting to question what it all really means.


I read an article today about artists suffering,
from more than just the whims of life and a fiat system that overrules bartering,
They hurt in the worst way — from within,
They endure and — more often than we know — succumb to grave, lonely pain,
But we are quick to trash their efforts or shower them with overwhelming praise,
Quicker still to exacerbate the anxieties they face by giving them surveilled days,
So relentless in our pursuit of even a sliver of their acknowledgment we are,
That we forget at our core we are nothing but par.


Next time you see one at a bar,
Sitting alone smoking a cigarette and not the illusory cigar,
Don’t question why they aren’t doing something more baller,
Ask yourself why you thought that first,
Then proceed to wonder and hopefully ask how they genuinely are.


Yours in anxiety,

Evans Mbora Campbell.
An Ar(nxious)tist.


Your Aura (Pt. 1)

The fact that I knew you not only thickens the plot,
But lays emphasis to the fact that,
It appears you are as beautiful as I forgot and, with trouble, not fraught,
Your aura is warm, inviting, radiant, to the point of being hot.


Your plethora of interesting lines of thought has me keen to see more out brought,
You awe me with the agora that is your soul.

Yours in perpetuity,

Evans Mbora Campbell.
The Explorer of Auras

Hello Dark(me)ss

There is a dangerous dance to the beat called life that perchance,
May get us killed in ways as unpleasant as, to wrists, a knife,
But what to do when moments are as fleeting as they are instant?
When fighting internally is arguably the worst kind of strife?

I want me to myself — to amass more good fortune than wealth,
To collect when moments are opportune and beneficial to, first and foremost, myself,
I want to delve into subjects that push you to fine-tune your open-mindedness,
That shake your body to the tune of your own deep, dark, sultry, nightly breath.

In your challenge of the concept of moral presentation of self,
You shall find the true extent of your so-called darkness,
Peer into that cavernous pit, lit by the candles of your simultaneous sweetness,
Ventilated by the punchy, fierce candour of your frankness,
Watered by the trickle of sweat from your forehead down to your breast,
A sure sign that you are ready to put to the test your very definition of sex;
Go on then! Down into the infiniteness of yourself you must venture next,
You know where to find me if you need a guide, helpful text or instigative caress.

Yours in serendipity,

Evans Mbora Campbell.

Our Big-Small Problems

Everything looks so small from so far,
Which would explain why we make such a fuss about what is closer,
Size unchanged and matters still named the same,
We pick at, apart and on what is within our frame.


Distance creates an absence that blurs the essence of our relationships,
We perceive them different; uncomfortable with a slight variation from a story often consistent,
People remain who they are but we choose to muse on what they could, should or would do,
And think it through enough to decide it is, in fact though it is not, what they will do.

While you sit with that,
I shall do my best to stay intact as,

Yours in perpetuity,

Evans Mbora Campbell.