Love. Sometimes we have to say sorry even when we do not mean it.

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Hiire Ivan is a Ugandan Writer, Poet and Blogger.

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Why did you come?

Why did you come? In my room yet you new you're a desert. An oasis so lazy to water the plant that I burried in your land. You, Why did you invite me at the party. Where food is served without a drink. And the hands are turned into forks. Corrupted to search for meat in the middle of the plate. And bribes to borrow the neighbours tap For the visitors to cure the thirst. Why did you come? In my room yet you new it was Albert, Who burnt the food at the fireplace. Why did you come? Why did you come?
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In the evening there's a feeling.

When you lay on your your back and watch the clouds walk. Blue and white with a darkness in them. Seeing different shapes of nature mapped on the sky. And your eyes crawl around the globe of your thought, Then they cast a glance on a girl that you fancied making you reminisce the times you had. Lethargic you feel for a moment, And your eyes get wet in a minute. The feeling of a love you lost in the evening. Dangling on your mind for a lifetime.
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Growing up

Growing up is like a young orange on a tree. So tender and shiny. It is smooth and soft to touch. And when the sun rises,it gliters like gold. When it rains it glows like a fire flame, It's so beautiful to the eyes. Growing up is sweet and loving.
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The Village Bulldozer

      A heavy wind was blowing from the Northern direction to the South. The trees swayed like they would fall the next minute. The leaves of a Muhuyu tree under which a village committee sat fell like the heavy rains of the 1997. The sun high in sky was tough like a hungry Lion in a zoo. The committee had coverged to chew a word about Mr Mulogo who had become a dangerous disease to the indigenous people. He had now erected a house in the middle of the path that led to the only well where people got water. And announced that no one should pass via his land. This had angered the locals provoking them to scribble a letter to the village chairperson. In a few days to come he was to set up a one thousand meter perimeter wall that would see the well off the eyes of the natives.        Mr Mulogo was a rich man who had gathered a big sum of paper. When he came to Muhula village,he had exchanged his paper for land with the frustrated villagers who saw life as a balloon in the air about to fal
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Beggars

Some where like a homeless child My heart is crying in the cold It is still raining outside am told And back to the blanket I fold My arms and legs on bed I pity the beggars on the streets Helter-skelter they run What happened to the ten point program at down? The truth is dark under our eyelids The birds are silent,there is no one to ask The senior beggars are harvesting bags As the Juniors carry rags People are furious The mood is serious And I am curious Why are there trenches at home? Is the one question I pose.
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Post

Pain Life ends Days edge Memories wane Trust spills Guidance mearnders But the world is a stone It crawls like a snail Leaving marks on the road It's hard to crack Breaking through is a war You have to endure the pain
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Patience

it is rewarding for you to be patient, because if you do,you will not regret like some other people do. Patient people to not fall Victims of circumstances because they always have a second thought before they decide on something.
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How could you?

How could you be so cruel like that, So unforgiving! Captivating me with your Vibrating bum. Trying to. Dig a hole in my feelings, Growing a deep wound in my heart. And all you can do is, Hurt,hurt,hurt. rubbing salt in it. Can not you be of a big heart one day, And add sugar to juice. So that we can share, a glass at least one night under the ray of the moon. In a place Where one can not trace.
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I Want To Do The Dirtiest Things

I want to do the dirtiest things to you. I want to feel your hand slip into mine as we watch a movie on your couch. Feel the heat of your eyes on me, wonder how much longer until you’re going to kiss me. Until you’re going to reach for the hem of my skirt or the clasp of my bra. I want to move things into the bedroom so we can lay, your chest pressed against my back. Your face in my hair. Your arm draped around me, cupping the curve of my waist. I want you to kiss me on my lips, soft at first, hesitant. I want a few more of those kisses, where we’re both in our heads more than the moment, wondering what the other person is thinking and if they want more. Then I want those light, fluttery kisses to turn into deep, passionate ones. I want the hands you’ve been keeping at your side to rest on my back, beneath my shirt. I want our legs to intertwine, our tongues to twist. I want my fingers in your hair, over your stubble, across your chest. I want your lips to get distracted, relocate to
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