Untitled Art Rant

The evolution of the artist is oft riddled with confusion and associations with delusion,
You are odd, told off for not being what’s hot —as if these things can be taught or bought,
To take a stand is to demand reprimand from the misunderstanding marching band that is People’s Opinion,
And if you fail to hold onto and kiss their tails they threaten to maim, proclaim you lame and deny you fame

But fuck their game of Come and Go,
If life were their show it would be long gone and far from going on,
And that state of being is hardly worth absconding my pen or your brush’s call for,

I’m saying keep doing it despite the critics, politics and gimmicks of those who would wish to mimic or make a buck quick off this,
Your heart will hurt and in spurts you will burst into flames of blame, wishing you did not have this soul untamed or were born with a different name,
But your purpose is to surface what others may never see as worthy of focus, you have to show what realities the other sides are donned with,
You will be deep and you will climb bigoted, ignorant hills so steep that you’ll wish you could make a living off sleep,
But remember that for all that you give, someone somewhere cares enough to want more of what you share; if that’s just you now then search like a stallion for its mare!

What do you have to lose when you have given all you could?
Emote, devote and revolt for your art, or feel yourself die behind the eyes as your soul unravels to the burden of the stories you never told.

Stay your art’s in perpetuity,
(I hope I will as I preach this so spiritedly)

Evans Mbora Campbell


Is it fair?

That you can leave as you please and slide back into my life with relative ease,
When even a relative would return on their knees and profusely plead,
I think you are the Chief Temptress indeed; I am consumed by greed in your presence and cannot be freed,
You left without a word and with that single deed decreed that I should bleed,
Yet upon your inevitably selfish retreat back to me I know you intend only to entreat, charm, harm then flee, characteristic you — flea

Is it fair that I am so helpless in the limelight cast by your face?
I’m confused and my escape I can never time right; perpetually I lose the race,
There is no dime I might use to bribe my way out of this disgrace,
I am but a mime whose might with words is effaced in this great debate

Is it fair that I hate to love you and know not if vice versa holds,
I anticipate a dove from your bosom but see only hawks and talons when your arms unfold,
You are an ingrate to have all this commitment and show no gratitude in tow,
But I guess I should regret not having known of your cruelty untold,
It’s not fair that I lay prostrate as you have your cake and eat it too, but alas!
so the story goes…


I am but a blot in the notebook into which you jot,
A tall order in the abyss from which you crept,
You see not my presence but my usefulness: my need to be in your debt,
And you plunder my coffers as you see your own self-interest met,


But from this day forth I hope against hope that I cease to see myself as yours in perpetuity,
Giving myself the gratuity you wouldn’t see fit for tasks complete:
And taking your leave with this, my final heave to be

Evans Mbora Campbell
Seeker of Reprieve

Carry Me Away

I saw in your blue eyes a flair that told no lies,
There was charisma that placated the most headstrong machismo; ego-defying,
By design there were only thin lines between your good and your great,
You left me so blind,
how ever would I (or others) see something malign about your state?


I am just wandering through this maze of racing heartbeats,
Everyone around me seems to be as starstruck by your soft lips,
It’s a small world where yours is the most longed-for kiss,
But none shall dare approach your form so warm, afraid it heats
And all are afraid of their norms, they lie, steal and cheat.


You have me grasping at straws as I draw our dances in my imagination,
I am longing for doors that open into your arms, but the fates love to see my indignation,
Being near you drives me into a stupor that strips away my charm: invariably tongue-tied in consternation,
Your smile and cheeky giggle feel double-edged — like alms and arms — beating me down into chasmic infatuation


Shall you be so kind as to take my hand in thine?
Carry me away with you into the end of time?

I can be,
Yours in perpetuity,

Evans Mbora Campbell
Unabashed by your popularity.




Out of (Re)bounds

Basketball references aside, we all hate that realisation that it was a lie,
That it was simply the infusion of a pipe dream, illusion, and emotional profusion, sigh…
In the end we all want to feel like the perfect pick-me-up for the down, but keeping it up seems an expectation too high.

From the onset we should resort to caution, you’re fresh out of a romantic arrangement, I’m inclined to deny,
Yet here we are, cavorting and courting, to the wind we throw caution, testing fate we roll the die,
And for each gamble we smile, for each kiss and stolen caress we believe US is nigh,
Yet in truth, you are ignoring the voices in your mind, as they chip away at your pipe dream, as their crescendo becomes a scream inside,
And I, remain lost in your enchanting conversation, mesmerised by your hazel eyes, ignoramus before the truths they hide.

With time, the ostensibly proactive interlocutor you were, becomes the non-executor I would never have preferred,
I’m stuck pushing the cart, crying at heart but looking unhurt, hoping my pain can be inferred,
You would, once upon a time, reach for my cheek with your lips, let me know the peace to your mind I conferred,
But now even my Gallic romance seems seedy, even subtle strokes of your face make you ornery and perturbed.

The END is what this could very well be, the inducement looking a lot like me,
Made out to seem like I am groping when caressing is what you need,
I’m the bad guy indeed, aren’t I?
No, in fact I am anything but so,
Wry is the humour with which I make that known,
When we both seemed engaged and engrossed,
You were simply having another’s name on your heart even more deeply embossed,
And while the moments felt blissful and perfect, I was simply outsourced.

It is time I end this need of you; any true need is worth the cost,
I am out of rebounds, and with my mouth full of fouls, I shall march off the court.

Once yours in serendipity,

Evans Mbora Campbell.

The (injurious) One…

He wonders if it’s possible that he’s just too emotional for this world,
if it is indeed impossible for him to just fit in and cope like an adult!
Apparently his level of sentiment irks some and they wish to see him just chill,
But quite lost is he and all he can feel is the cold that she has left here, it’s real.
He looks around and just wonders if there’s anything in the world he could do to make her see how much she MEANS to him,
He knows he should say “meant” but for him, it was just so real he can’t fathom the thought of it being over,
Not before it began, not before she ever got to call him her lover!
Not before romantic songs they sang under the sun, set in a beautiful place called Us where the parties present were just that,
He can’t even hate the girl for her “transgression”, he just wants to deal but can’t,
He knows it’s wrong to be so wound up by it all, yet sees no relief for this mess he’s in, he can’t see how he wouldn’t have been enchanted,
He can’t see how he should have just known she wouldn’t truly feel as he did!
He can’t understand how she could take back all he thought she did with verisimilitude,
Doesn’t understand how such reciprocity could be a mere attitude,
Particularly one subject to vicissitude!

He is his greatest weakness,
And his most indomitable strength,
Yet he feels the weight of this event, and his knees are bent,
He refuses to fall to the ground, but knows that if he doesn’t find it within himself not to, he’ll eventually lay there, wasted and spent!

He feels so helpless now, and it’s WRONG,
He shouldn’t have to suffer so much hurt from realising that she didn’t feel the same way about him, shouldn’t be so forlorn!
Yet he is, he should be grateful she’s gone, but is not,
It can’t be! He made the recently-turned-heart-renching error of letting her in, let her leave the light of romantic hope on,
And she left it to burn alone on one side of this room meant for two, too much in the face of the darkness it is to exclude,
How she has him so far from himself removed by her exit is something he would wish not upon anyone that shall have to face the disappointment that followed from a realisation such as hers – so chilling and cruel,
The reality that was her absence masked by a seemingly strong presence should never be the fate of anyone being bottom-of-their-heart genuine!

He’s heard many a man and woman say that none should command such power over one’s heart,
Yet he watched the same many fall into the very same ” trap”, which leads him to believe, “So much for THAT”

What I’m driving at with the story of this chap –
is the fact that matters as unpredictable as those of the heart, are unintelligible to simple men and women like us,
They have no prescribed drug or quick fix once they run amok, forget all the “Dr. Loves” and would-be experts,
When it hurts, it just does, and sometimes though time may heal the wound, it has no remedy for the scars!
Each is unique to the bearer, each took its own time to show up,
And that simply implies, that we all deal with these situations the best we can,
even when at times there is nowhere to run and the wounds only continue to fester, throb and burn.
Even then, while it is not that on ourselves our backs we turn, we simply can’t as easily overcome what we felt for The (injurious) One,
Not as fast as we hope, not by finding someone else to grope!
For when your eyes find the prize they were set on but couldn’t see until thee, they never want to look away, all others rendered unworthy!
“The One” supersedes all other sources of “fun”, trysts and one-night stands vituperative to all  the romance for which a pursuit of her demands!

But distinctly, The (injurious) One is absent when it is their turn,
They are there to have you learn!
They see things not in the same hopeful,believing way that you do; you are but a channel to their previous experience with flames that burnt,
They are sub-consciously detached from all that you believe is a beautiful dance, outside wandering and wondering if they’re really supposed to be holding your hands and accepting your poetic chants,
Unwilling to drop their past and seek renewal in a future that you are willing to commit to with an open heart,
They are, by definition, stuck between a rock and a hard place, juggling a heart and playing Catch-Up is two difficult,
So they choose to have none at all in hand, that with a clear conscience they may depart-
And with that clear conscience, live with the shatter of their presumed partner’s dream of being one at last…

Probably never to return, though the hope that they shall remains alive: whether for life or for a moment short-lived –
is a timing only the burnt can give,
But the truth that remains unwavering despite the ordeal,
Is that they came, they saw, and they walked out before they could even settle in,
And that’s what (nearly) kills the patient in their treatment rather ill…

However, the reality so harsh that it justifies these acts,
is that of the REAL world we live in, that which reminds us that for only so long can we dream-
that which shows that being “Yours in perpetuity”,
Goes beyond being Mbora Evans or for anyone else, ME.

So, Yours in perpetuity,
(if you’ll take me)

Evans Mbora Campbell.

Sun & Moon

…gone too soon, I feel confused by my own swoon,

I may not have realised how much of an impediment my love was, but that’s because it never is when you’re over the moon,

I regret none of what I did, neither do I feel that I must take it all back and hate that I gave it to you,

Love keeps no account of wrongs, and I for one need none in my bank vault, so by all means, I gave what was due




I’m sure clarity shall come,

When is however a matter I dare not assume, forcing it will only lead me to my own harm,

I do know that even with all this charm you claim I have and am,

I shall find it a lot harder to drop it all and no longer give a damn,

What the heart wants it truly does, that I have come to learn,

But only a mutuality of that desire makes it worth a leg and an arm…




For all that you ever showed me, I still believe you were my sun by day,

Your shine impossible to replicate in the face of all the other people I know so dull, disagree you may,

But I’m as sure as spring is in May –

that I will never meet another like you in this or any other decade.




I have posited that there are many “ones”,

And out of all those, for each we lose, another shall, despite the sorrow, emerge,

But I also believe that regardless of the multiplicity, the heart never ceases to justify the individual ONE-

presented to it by fate and chance and granted to its child-like eyes like a present from a loving dad,

it chooses to hold on to that one! YOU, for example…




For all that we could have had,

The nights I dreamed of and the days we did have,

I’m thankful I managed to be graced by the warm, soothing glow of your sun,

and pray that you do find the one who WILL deserve all the angel that you are.


Yours in perpetuity,

Evans Mbora Campbell.


Allone in ME…

…for the life of All of ME,
seems not to suffice, and the mixed reactions it elicits are equally unsatisfactory,
I’m pages ahead in a book hardly read and my reactions as I internalise the words, so beautifully written, seem to be misled,
I hang in limbo now-
unsure if the fact that I just had my favourite page (yet) torn to shreds should leave me too distressed to flip through the rest,
Or if I should persist despite the missing content and leave the nostalgia of what I had enjoyed so much to what my imagination can invent…

To be completely honest, stolen is this joy I seemed to have been frolicking in,
But at this mind-boggling crossroad, I stand with choices I can’t digest, languishing,
The one thing I want and would give everything for is so frustratingly beyond my reach, but I have felt its caress, tormenting,
I am to walk on like nothing is wrong and what I long for is best forgone – divest; disheartening!

All things considered, I’m probably better off without the addled brain, not to mention the heart so strained,
My chest caves in, receives shortlived relief, then soon after, all that refreshed hope is drained!
Damaged as I already AM, this may only spell harm for the very core of all that I can (be), and I’m probably better off just being ME, unrestrained,
For what good is a prison if men are bound by loose chains?
What use is a noose if under its own weight it snaps out of strain?
Even the chains and the noose must want their role in this life, none of them can afford to be in vain…

My thoughts are magnified by the fact that I am just who I am,
Behind the charm lies depth, behind the jam of fun, lies the soft bread, my soul’s flesh,
Each thought is a combined process fuelled by emotion unspoken and rationale beyond simple summary; raw, forget fresh,
If it had a nationality, it would be French,
Its artistic splendour Parisian, its bravado equalled only by Napoleon; but like the diminutive man ever subject to defeat under life’s mortality spell!

I can’t quite describe where I am, it’s an abyss where even the light of my soul is dulled to a blip,
I’m groping in the dark for a switch I know may not exist, I hope to find peace in a war that never ceases to persist,
Yet each time I want to just quit, I wonder how I will after putting in all this,
I have gritted my teeth, I have believed that mine is just postponed bliss,
I waited for a queen knowing I was merely a peasant, at best a pauper prince,
Yet when I tasted your royalty, so modest and august, I found it impossible not to miss,
But now, it all seems to have been a path that led me amiss,
Standing lost, stranded, interrupted and near-jaded, I must find that ever-elusive peace,
Allone in ME.

Days go by,
And as time flies I hope you realise,
That the sun never shone to those who never opened their eyes,

Yours in perpetuity,
Evans Mbora Campbell.

Life’s Twisted Joke

I could cry,

but even if I kept at it, the truth will never be a lie,

I could say I can hide,

but no amount of style can mask this gaping hole of mine…

I feel like a victim of time,

An offender being punished by karma for crime,

I am the product of fate’s parody, the unwanted, a malady,

I am the anomaly after the tragedy,

You were crushed before, and hearts before yours I tore, so life decided I deserve to face the melody.



Shall I be fine?

Who knows, I highly doubt it but I’m hardly divine,

Did I most certainly hope one day you would be mine?

NO, for even if you gave me all of you and I me, your spirit could never be confined,

All I could ever hope for and want, was to see you smile, be the light to my life so blind…



Carry all of me with you AMME,

that you may remember I was there entirely,

that you may lay down your yolk and accept the fact that you’re unchained, when it becomes reality,

that you may know I have never had to wait from a distance, but in this instance feel inclined to trust you’ll find clarity,

And I, I most certainly hope my dreams about being with you become verities,

and that I’ll eventually argue about whether to call you “AMME” or “baby”,

and you’ll laugh hysterically as I feed you omelette du fromage each morning,

wander away into a world of dreams as I watch you sleep and treasure your beauty, my blessing.



I shall wait for you from a distance, and say “Come at me”, waiting to receive you gladly,

I shall wait and hope that when you do return, I shall be unchanged, my sentiments towards you in place,

I shall wait for you to recover and do my best to do the same…



I had/still do,

hoped/hope to be



Yours in perpetuity,


May I Walk You Home…

…so I can stand with you under the moonlight,
Take in the glow of your visage, my I pity the floodlights-
working so hard to illuminate the night,
when I have found my own light in the fire that is your soul; by night my sunlight,
By day, justifiably impolite to the celestial body, still so bright

…because I love bumping into your side,
reminding myself that I have you by it, then warming up inside.
It’s amazing how this simple thing, I find,
brings me the ultimate joy; saturation for the heart, soul and mind,
Yours is the expertly-cast spell that binds,
and leads me to willingly abide by having nothing to hide,
I find myself emoting to you, putting this raw emotion in plain sight,
showing you my fairy tales full of untested foresight, with you featuring as a prominent highlight,
Around your aura I have abundant might yet have not the fight to keep from you my heart’s design,
It is with you that my inclination is defined,
towards you it leads me, leaving everything else behind,
And to the fate that I await with bated breath, that of you and I,
I feel pleasantly resigned.

…because I quite simply see,
no better alternative for these two feet,
no other imperative required by this chivalry,
and no other directive I could give myself so gladly,

“May I walk you home milady?”

And hope that I may be,
Yours in perpetuity,

Evans Mbora Campbell.


…not as ice or another Nairobi morning in July,
But as a settled butterfly,
Enjoying the flower that is the moment it’s in, impeccable, irreplaceable,
Free of the implacable and simply magical, a moment in which everything and nothing passes by

You take the words from my lips,
Nothing I wish to tell you seems to have escaped your well-manicured fingertips,
You know me so well yet you don’t, a paradox as enchanting as the view from atop cliffs,
My breath you don’t steal like a thief-
instead you show me the need for it by counting as someone I’d miss were it ever amiss…
Hence I feel blessed with inimitable bliss,
Graced by a sign from above, telling me yours must be the ONE kiss-
that will leave me want of nothing and in need of only thee…

Chilled is the life I see for us,
No pressure and plenty of intellectual discourse, fun and games when we’re out of matters to discuss,
No fuss about whether I can afford your class,
For love knows no lust, and “us” never appeared in the word “caste”,
Honesty in its raw form, never too blunt nor too sharp; the basis of trust,
For what would a bridge be with no truss?

Chilled is how I see a future for not just me or you, but my posterity,
And what better way to build up to it than by taking the first step with someone who thinks similarly?
Well, as you answer that rhetoric wherever you may be,

I remain

Yours in perpetuity,

Evans Mbora Campbell.