Can lions tame the wild, where jungles shift,

They turn like grumpy constrictors, tight,

Denying chances that I might roar's gift?

What does it mean to roar with all your might?

Is roaring meant to intimidate prey?

(Letters for my Mother. a collection of poetry written by yours truly)

As the poet behind these lines, I invite you to join me on a journey through the kaleidoscope of human experience. These poems are a reflection of moments in time, snapshots of joy, sorrow, love, and longing. They are fragments of the tapestry that weaves our lives together, exploring the threads that connect us all.

In the tapestry of life, woven with threads of thoughts, emotions, and the silent impact of socioeconomic struggles, I present to you "Letters for my Mother." These pages are a testament to the journey my mother and I undertook until her departure in 2007. During those years, I was a wanderer, drifting from place to place, my only constants being the letters I wished I could send home.Growing up amidst a bustling family of twelve, I found myself bouncing between different roofs, seeking refuge wherever I could. Sometimes, I'd return to find my sister absent, lost in the demands of her job. Those were the moments when books and the glow of the television became my companions, nurturing me through trying times. My two brothers and I, separated by distance, yearned for the closeness that family should bring.Amidst this tumultuous journey, one thing remained constant, my gratitude to them for ensuring I received an education. High school became my sanctuary, where I unearthed my true calling – the artistry that flows like a river through these words. Art, for me, was the anchor in a sea of variables. It revealed itself in the drama and musicals of my first year, and the following year, I ventured into the Environment and Science Congress, where I once dreamt of becoming a scientist. Yet, it was a cartoon character, Dexter, with his secret lab, who truly awakened the artist within me.As I progressed through Form three and four, my artistry evolved from performing to visual creations, and poetry became a second language to me. School, for all its academic demands, was primarily a canvas for forging friendships and experimenting with diverse forms of art.Post-high school, I dabbled in computer graphic design, though a reason for my eventual departure from that path will be shared in my future works. It was the theater and the magic of performing arts that finally captured my heart. The stage became my domain, a realm where I breathed life into characters with costumes and lights, narrating tales that held audiences spellbound. From the villain to the hero, I played them all, drawing both jeers and applause, cherishing the emotions I stirred.Yet, familiarity breeds stagnation, and my artistic soul yearned for fresh horizons. I traversed the corners of my homeland, Kenya, immersing myself in its rich culture, before settling into the world of drawing and penning poetry and books.I confess, self-doubt once held me captive. Countless sketches and words found their way to the trash bin, casualties of my harshest critic – myself. However, in 2017, under the nurturing wings of Storymoja and the mentorship of Muthoni Garland, Samira Mathews, and Monity Odera, I emerged with my first published children's book, "Monsters Who Disobeyed," or "Malipo ya Ukaidi" in Swahili. It was a milestone, a testament that belief in oneself can kindle the brightest of flames.My greatest regret is that my mother, resting in eternal peace, never witnessed the man I've become, never glimpsed my talents in full bloom.To every dreamer and creative soul, I offer this nugget of wisdom – the first step is the steepest, but the summit awaits your ascent.Today, I stand versed in the language of various art forms, fluent in their expression.As you, dear reader and admirer of my work, step into my world through these pages, I extend a humble invitation to share a room in your library, a place where my words might become your cherished companions.With gratitude and hope, CHARLES ODUOR ISADIAH