Cooper Jose Njoroge

Writer, poet, painter, philosopher, a student of life and politics, and loves mathematics. Highly analytical and highly unconventional. Whatsapp @+254786344267. Twitter @_philosking. Instagram @cj_njoroge


Post Views = 1842I sit there with a pen and a piece of paper-no, a notebook. And yes, I’m old-school. I love writing and love my work to have what they call manuscripts; shattered pieces of paper that I will look at in future and remember sitting under a young shade-less acacia tree trying to pull off some Isaac Newton …

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The Affair: Part Three

Post Views = 2822Minutes turned into hours, hours into days, days into weeks and weeks into an unexplained void of nothingness inside me; trying to reach out to the healing power of catharsis but nothing to show for it. I attributed the lack of healing to my moral corruption as Immanuel Kant would have it. I remembered his book; the …

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Zero Hour

Post Views = 423Timing is something that I can never get quite right especially when it comes to relationships. I have met the girl of my dreams the month before she left to go study abroad; formed an incredibly close friendship with an attractive lady who happened to be taken; met another one but she was too outgoing; fell in …

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The Affair: Part Two

Post Views = 545The premonition had not been for her but for me. I was a man on the run, on the run from myself, my selfish proclivities and my past which was fast catching up with me. I wanted so badly to detach myself from these but I didn’t know how. I was a prisoner of selves, a captive …

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Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Post Views = 548Something had changed. She no longer looked at me the way she used to. Her gaze had turned into something more like a stare; an emotionless stare, and her hugs cold, casual at their best. The eyes that once proclaimed indiscriminate affection now only had pity whenever I looked into them; like she pitied me for whatever …

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The Affair: Part One

Post Views = 1190The white lingerie was lying on my bed. I picked it up and hung it on the rack, rubbing my cheek in the fabric and smelling the faint sweet scent of the lady who came occasionally for lighthearted interludes away from a husband who was all but impotent but nevertheless loved. We suited each other well: perfectly …

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