Date: Dec 23rd, 2112
They were one,
A couple of its kind,
One that was looked up to.
They were a fit pair,
An exceptional match,
They blended,
He; an introvert.
She, an extrovert,
A mix they made,
A classic laughter factory.
What an awsome blend.
They shared love,
All feelings were mutual
It was a scene to behold,
A scene in their story of life.
I count money, coins to be precise,
Yes, thats part of what I always dreamt
As a kid, three years old,
With dat dreams of holding cash,
Dreams that looked so real,
But still lie stale.
Walking with tapping shoes
In a scarlet tie to the colar so white,
With a clothing that knew iron.
But I say my dreams lie stale
Not dead, just stale
I count coins from men's sweat
After fighting in the streets so wild,
To cheers and jeers flying high,
With bloody sweat-quenching the earth
And the thirst of the gangs.
Yes, I count coins,
From the holey pockets of slum dwellers
From the rotten purses of sullen faces,
From heavy minds relieved by the fights
But
I still count coins; bet on men's lives,
My dream lies stale.
At the very edge of the rocky descend,
At the entrance to a peaceful haven,
At the open of the doors
by an angel with a charm,
With a touch scented breeze.
Behind me I saw no thing,
For my back minded me not,
What was in front of my eye
Was more than enough
An angel with a lock of a smile.
In a printed African top,
Covered by a white blouse,
Like an icing on a cake.
Behind her trotted a kid,
Inquisitive his second skin,
With a tinge of anxiety,
I call it innocent suspicion.
With a closed hug,
That joines us into one;
In a moment of satisfaction,
In a moment of unknown self,
In a moment so short yet long,
In a moment so sure.
We proceeded down,
Step by step,
Each with a tinge of fright
That would fall off my step,
For my eyes saw no stairs;
My look depicted stares.
When she opened the doors,
I knew the moment had come,
The moment that made my mind calm.
Looking into her pair of rainy global eyes,
With mine depicting a pool of mist;
an impending storm.
My arm made an involuntary stretch
to her always warm flank so tender.
She shoved it away.
My eyes stuck on her smooth flawless face,
The one I used to carress,
Those days begone,
I thought my apology was belated.
I could say no more, nay cry.
I had poured out my heart,
sprinkled her with sweetened vowels,
with an icing of truth,
My word bank ran dry,
My convincing smiles were puppet tricks,
My voice intonations were toxic mimics,
She was reluctant to move a cheek,
She was reluctant to move her feet,
At last that was a sign.
She stared at me with a smile,
That legendary smile so preserved,
the kind kind of smile only I earned.
Those days when our passion was a kiln;
A furnace of love driven lust;
What a concorsion!
Memories reeled like a clip,
In my mind, jealous-worthy cuddles,
In a moment of unaccounted for shock,
I was taken in her arms,
those tender fingers that pampered my skin.
That simple warmth that made me sweat,
That warm breathe that raced mine,
That heartbeat that fired up mine,
That husky voice that held hostage my soul and mind,
That soft touch that erased all doubt.
I forgive you.
A warm kiss on her lips,
was the gratitude I could afford,
And yes,
She kissed me again.
The other day after night,
After the stars had shone bright,
And were shying from the sun bright,
I watched it pass by.
With a look of elegance,
With a shade of scarlet
Pulled to it like a stringless puppet.
My head did an involuntary shake,
I don't remember the gesture I made
But with my attention it did trade.
I trie to look back,
Like a silhoutte I looked black,
Against the bright dawn sun.
I saw what caught my eye
And it captured my mind,
Never has it left my mind.
The question is, what was it?
She says she is bad,
She does everything to prove
She frowns at smiles,
She slaps coutersy in the face
But one thing betrays her,
Her smile.
It is all in her heart
When lost was all hope,
And memories took control.
When lips cracked dry,
And there were no tears to cry.
When all around was dust,
And a handkerchief was a must.
When the dry wind could rush,
And wet you in a wave of dust...
We all looked to the skies,
The skies so high,
Where the birds take flight,
There was a shade of blue,
You could almost see through.
No cloud blocked the view.
But, it came in torrents,
The skies cried in torment,
Water flowed in currents,
And now the cold freezes.
He sits down,
In the farthest forlorn corner
Of the mud walled cracked windowless room,
The teacher calls it classroom,
the dictionary says otherwise.
He knows many a people,
Prominent and low,
Nelson Mandela,
Koffi Annan,
Gamel Nasser,
All of them,
Aren't they kids in the hood?
In fact Koffi is Nasser's twin.
He knows not the blue waters,
But the dusty drops,
That merely quench the thirst,
In fact,
The drops so dusty,
Aren't a remedy at all,
They leave the throat scratched.
He has a sister Aisha,
19 year-old wrinkled face,
She is a mother of three,
Traded off
To a nomad with sheep.
She was booked when three,
And sold off at thirteen,
She is such a punch bag to the man,
Thin but bone-hard.
The man so ruthless,
Even to the eye.
He passes his fingers,
Through his dust washed hair,
Coiled as the only form of comfort,
In the distance are gunshots,
He can only fathom the receipient,
The scattered flesh,
Just like his aunt, uncle,
And his other cousin,
Tears cloud his eyes,
The same tears that cloud The Sun of Africa.
[When a puppet goes contrary to the strings]
The joy of a news fisher,
Is to go in deeps,
The lows,
The forgotten,
The neglected,
Just to get the news,
In high tides,
In waves of brown dust,
In swamps with snake bites,
Just to get the news.
His joy ends up on screen,
When he sees a story,
Resembling what he brought,
He sighs despair,
Because who announces is a puppet,
Dancing to the pull of the strings,
Strings pulled by yet another puppet,
Only bigger.
The joy of a news fisher.
Someone asked me why I smiled,
And my answer came with unhidden pride,
No one else does it like she does,
Day in day out my heart grows,
Reminding me of sweet moments begone,
And with her I have a guaranteed love.
They say it takes a society to raise one,
I must say I was raised by a world,
The world that existed not only in the eye,
but in my thoughts high.
The days were weary,
Though being who I truly am,
I had to move with a pretence of a comfort,
Close folks made the days brighter,
Teachers made the mind wider,
It was such a period.
I am grateful.
Family is family,
Support was more than a calling,
More than an obligation,
It is the second skin they wear,
Their support was overwhelming.
With a supportive Dad though late,
And a great mum I do cherish,
And my sisters I adore.
I am grateful.
Religion so sensitive an issue,
but with strong belief,
that a supernatural power beyond imagination,
its existence alone,
made me sure I wasn't alone.
I thank God.
I am grateful.
Foes never miss,
but not all are for bliss,
they are an asset in disguise,
through them I knew the weak part of me,
I am grateful.
I am tongue-tied,
but I am spirited high,
Because the dream to fly,
burns in me day and night.
It is great a period,
A sharp turning point.
not only for me,
but also to each and everyone.
I am grateful.
