Of what good is life when pain is all it brings?
Do you move out when agony knows your address?
When the heart beats in defiance,
And your feet steps with uncertainty,
Will the embers spark a fire?
That life might find a new vigor?
Will you bask in the pain of your realities
and hit nails on your casket as worry chars your faith?
For the wounds we couldn’t heal
For the promises we didn’t keep
For the strangers we didn’t greet
For the pussies we didn’t hit
We are only humans;
We are just as human as the rest of you
I remember her. Every day, I see her. The soft-spoken beauty who grabbed my hands when other beauties were still waiting for the opportune time. She reached out, in three words, a paper ironed and slipped in a perfumed envelope.
“Anto Iberna. Aduari”
(You’re beautiful to me. I want you)
I read the letter, the meaning too gross for my mind to process, so I studied her handwriting. Lord, it was a result of routine scribbling. It wasn’t calligraphy per se, but it was nothing ordinary.
Every word smiled at me.
Every word seduced me.
I think I saw her writing them with a ruler pressed on a page as a pen left bits of her soul on the page. She was the letter.
It was an art.
What was I to do? What did it mean when a class 6 pupil wrote a class 4 a letter?
“Anto Iberna. Aduari” this had to be a joke, because I knew ‘beautiful’ boys were not skinny and didn’t have big front teeth; they had round heads, and more meat, and were taller, and were fighters. But I was just a skinny boy. I wasn’t ‘ beautiful’. I was different, I was weak, but I could run, so I ran from her. Ran away from her.
She was the letter, remember? I ran away with her in my pocket, and when I couldn’t run anymore, I crushed her in my palms and chewed her. I killed her.
Fast forward, 15 or so years later. Nairobi homes ghosts. She is the most beautiful of them all. I, the murderer sips coffee that her ghost has paid for.
“I love your locs.” They are four words now, she talks more now. Her thighs fill her skirt. She is juicy. She is the words. I chewed them.
I’m here, I’m not.
She was here, She’s gone.
Rocks ground to pebbles,
I counted the spaces they left
Huge, huge, huge, gaps loom
So I spread their absences on the floor of my heart
Now this heart won’t dance right
But still, more gaps loom
Humans are humans
They come in different shades
That which make us animals
The Yin, the Yang
The Push, the Pull
That keep our empires bleeding
In love and in war
Some still fresh, some worn by time
Headstones bearing sorry epitaphs
Of loved ones lost in the earth beneath
‘Lowo rach, lowo kwalo joherewa’
So we light candles, place new wreaths
Bitter-sweet memories we re-live;
A touch of mysticism they plastered on the cheeks of our existence
A generous love they spilt on pages of our destiny
And warmth of bellies on freezing nights.
Memories of breasts we suckled
and Twins we starved—
Still the hand of time swings
Wringing our souls off guilt
for transgressions against our own—
Sins we committed in absentia.
to body parts we kept!
I would have loved to lie
That I miss your company
But insomnia took your place
and we’re doing just fine.
Worms have invaded my mind
Nothing left between my ears
Just here tryna love this hollow husk
But love is evasive
I’ll try living instead
Papa today I saw him
The man who snatched life me
He’s free papa
And his health is getting better
Papa, he fed on my blood
My virgin blood!
And drank my tears
He owns my flesh
Every inch my breasts grow
My fears swell
Will it arouse them?
Will it tell them I want it?
I saw him, and the memories surfaced
My mind popped open, and worms crawled out
There’s nothing left in this skull
But memories of torture and pain
The smell won’t let me eat
The guilt won’t let me sleep
Don’t lie to me papa
Wasn’t he right to pluck the flower of my childhood?
Wasn’t I meant to please the desire of men?
Papa, I’m guilty of fighting him
Guilty of reporting him
Guilty of damaging his reputation
I’m eating my flesh away
Or did I get sick?
Papa life has no meaning
Don’t you have death on speed dial?
This crowd suffocates me
My identity sun-dried and preserved
Can’t wait to revel in solitude
For I need serious conversations with myself
A duel with my demons
And reprimands from my guardian angel
She’s been off duty too long
The crowd cheers on
Laughter deluge my cries
And none saw
The silence, the tension
The dying embers
The shredding of life
I walked home dead
Suicide note wasn’t found
Dem hypocrites cried
Distant relatives became close
To mock me
Wasn’t it stupid?
Couldn’t he talk?
When nobody heard when I called
Nobody pulled my hand
As currents swept me under
Let us toast to animal pleasures, to escapism, to rain on the roof and instant coffee, to the comfort of unemployment and humility of empty sugar dishes, to absinthe and innocence-eyed cougars, to landlord notices, to music, to cold nights and warm bodies, to contraceptives and missed periods… and to the good life, whatever it is and wherever finds you, to sighs of missed calls, to serenity of nature and positive vibrations it brings with it…
Let’s toast to pretty faces and big asses,to supple lips and seductive eyes, to smitten pastors and falling bibles…to rumbling stomachs and naked tissue rolls, to missing left socks and stripped bible pages, to blocked drainages and grey water, to missing family members, to absences found in presence of nagging wives, to weed and chimney noses, to thirst for righteousness and magnetism of pornography, to failed attempts and soiled hopes, to bodies torn after deities’ duel, to life in fullness; what you consider it to be!
Thank You, God for simplifying life
Thank you God for a chance to right my wrongs
Thank you God for Nesta or Isabella
Youtube, Thank you for another euphoric sound escape!