*(a drunkards Monologue)*
I’m sitting at the counter of the Grill sipping my first glass of Jack Daniels. That’s a lie as far as the petite waiter is concerned. It’s Friday afternoon, just
from the office. Its been a hot, sunny, busy day, not to mention the orange dust that punctuates the air I breathe.
I’m putting on my casual wear, white T shirt tucked in a brown khaki jeans, with a black leather belt. My tie is loosely suspended on my nape. My brown shoes reflecting everything that it meets. On my wrist I’ve got my golden watch. I stare at it. Counting time. Tired, I just want to go home.
In the background the music plays,
Machozi yangu yote namalizika
Mie nitalala na nani
Mie mpaka ni mawazoo ooh ooh
mie mpaka ni kuwazawaza
kama ile njia yako enda
kama ni maisha yako fuata
wee dada ……
Slowly it fades away, and In my mind it’s replaced with tunes of a piano, with a soft iconic touch. The empathy of harmony fills me. “I live a lonely life”, it ghastly hits me like a tornado.
Why should I strive to live a fruitless life?
If the evening’s brewing why should I even go home,
Possibly to a woman whose mouth is an open barrel that constantly discharge projectile of words. That tore into my skin deeper than her long nails each night I thrust in her. It digs deeper into my flesh like she molds my soul into a new being. Its not pleasure that I feel. Its unprotected pain yet we barely have kids.
Tell me !
What do we often search for in this life so aimlessly that we never seem to grasp? Is it shame, When ourselves repatriates to our old selves? Each passing moment every act takes us back to the beginning of the forbidden fruit. Whence we slither like snakes, hissing with moist tongues back between the legs of a woman.
“The legs of a woman!” (chuckles again)
The legs of a woman no matter how tight, there’s only one thing that can come between them. One single thing that can always penetrate through.
What is it?
You know it, don’t you?
I know its money,
Am I right?
But why should a man have all the wealth in the world, and still miss the grandest of chances to be with a desired woman? Or a perfect family? Is this the point where we utter “life ain’t fair?? ”
The same way I know love ain’t real.
I know at some instances one of you have felt suicidal. I have. Many times. Most recently when I held Jack Daniels. When everything loses meaning and you feel like a tissue paper. Used. Thrown away in pits. Or like tits, does a baby get tired of suckling their moms tits? Or lips, not the other lips, I mean that other lips. They sprout open like zips. That’s it.
Its felt when unseen in darkness.
Why not end it all? Rescind to our ashes. Forget everything. Lie like logs housing squirrels. What a charade.
Usually I ain’t a drunkard.
“Excuse me, Would you love to have another drink? ”
I snap out of my frenzy. It ain’t as quiet. The music continues as it comes to a halt.
Think that’s the way!
“Excuse me sir, would you love to have another drink? ”
Papa Wemba must’ve been a good drunk to come up with that song. RIP.
“I’m okay. Call me a taxi. I need to ‘rail on'”