Welcome to Without Wax. This is a place where I share my thoughts on literature, culture food, people and travel, and publish short stories and poetry… My name is Luke Kasakya. You can read more about me here.


He kisses her, slow, steady, tender, unrushed, lips nape, neck…; for the moment, they forget that life is life once again, where everything good is vain and broken.


He munches on the stick of cassava held together with a splice of tomato:

“But this year the elections will be fair…”

They laugh, they cackle; was it a joke? maybe, maybe..

“Wacha! Let them waste their time, Mzee is already ready for them–“


Watching her sing, Memories crop up with in him, Partly in mind, and partly in heart; Memories of her whom he would soon forget. Of times past when their feet were stout still and their bodies light, When they played hide and seek, Innocently passing sweet, sweet words between them, Words void of canal fascination;…


It makes sense now, the laugh she had fought with earlier. It’s an iPhone six plus, coolest phone on the block for the ultra-cool with the money and will to spend it. You are not so cool anymore; You feel like a shit.. You feel like a turd and, as first as a hand that slaps you disappears from your face you hide your phone that is not even a quarter the size of hers both in size and worth. You know you cannot win this one, even combined with your katochi from the key and button age in your left side pocket, you know you can never meet a quarter the cost of hers. You are beaten, you have lost


Every day I see her, looking, waving, smiling, and I am thinking I really like her. But then I look away, and I am thinking I really couldn’t I can’t, I really wouldn’t… ‘Cause if I did, I could, I really would Be able to tell her, but I can’t. I open my mouth and…


With time, he thought she meant it emotionally; growing up taught him otherwise. She did not feel a thing when he woke her up after his late nights at his desk. When they lay together as man and woman, and he rode her like a sex fiend resurrect from hell eyes lids clenched together, living a pseudo reality wherein he fucked one of those wenches she had seen in the folds the stupid pornographic magazines he loved so, then going limp, and, collapsing off of her, breathing hard and sleeping off. It was just another chore.


The math teacher’s scribble on the board was a calculation to find the circumference of a circle drawn in the midst of a triangle with no radius given. He had left and of course like every good primary school teacher had left numbers for home work on the black board for the pupils to copy….


“Curse them all! Screw the stupid mannequins imitating Luther king or Sophocles_ their oration has a long way to go…and their “wisdom”…was indeed “wisdom”. (That remark was especially directed at the chancellor that spoke as if he were borne white and turned black later in life)

Curse their words, their smug faces…their stupid snide pathetic inane naïve congratulatory remarks.

Curse them all!


But year after year
Election after election
We are fed lies at this never coming celebration of a better nation;
Under the watch of the same eyes that promised us a better nation
The nation, the republic is gutted
And corrupted I still wonder why it isn’t swept away yet.


Why the heck was she crying anyway?

Sometimes he wondered what girls like the one in his backseat expected from men like him, men that sat in in bars waiting for prey to show up. Couldn’t they see, he seated there on his lonesome was a clear sign that he like many, was not a fan of committing to one on one situations; that he was there for one and one purpose only, to pick up licqourcited girls that could not make the right call at the particular time?

Why the heck was she crying?


Doing time in the waiting room. “I hope this time she will tell us he is available now…” The words came from young man in a white Egyptian cotton shirt, tie, black suit and black shoes burnished to a perfect sheen. He had the semblance and aura of lawyer. His words were directed at the…

The last words said…

Carol. She was more or less a sister. His parents had come to accept her and love her and she in turn did not disappoint. She was the sweet helpful girl they only wished could have been biologically their own. She was we’ll behaved and quick on her feet, quick to help with this and…


They spoke of broken hearts. And to understand this I fail I mean It doesn’t make sense how a heart of flesh Spongy soft flesh Can ever shatter or be broke… Well that much I said until the other Day when I met a girl cry for her father Father Gone Gone beyond to the…


Day time Kampala_its respectful girls and men Living superficial, real and lies. Hi, Day time Kampala, I met you and hated you and loathed; You loathed me, and hated me when you met me. But… Every day in the night is a good day. Blame the light, ’cause by And by, as it gets darker,…


They never said what blood flowed in their veins, Nor did they, the air they breathed. They wrote their end; was it real? For if it were, Then heroes no more live amongst us. I read the stories, the legends, and the myths. Some be true and some be lies. Which is which, I can…


Who had the worst day today? Simple, not a competition, but, Who had the worst day today; The papa and the daughter? The son and the mother? Who had the worst day today? The papa, disrespected; The daughter, sexually molested; Probably by the papa, Probably transmitted disease into her The son that, disrespected the father,…


The teacher’s voice had resumed all hostility. He stood straight and looking. All were a gust, stupefied and anxious … waiting his next words; it wouldn’t be long. “You don’t know what you are about. It’s for this reason I refuse to associate myself with you”.He nods towards the silent bunch of students before him…


So dance with me,
Tumble, Move front, back sideways and
You against me turn around and face me
Smiling; smile girl smile, I will smile back at you


My mind is a vessel empty and dry Thirsting for naught but the reason why The reason why, the influx in crime and unprovoked brutality Yet there are more subtle ways to kill a man Without a gun or raising a hand; And best of, you get away with it. This is how you kill…