The first time we kissed there was no rainbow neither the feel of butterflies dancing in my stomach. There was no music: nor golden specks of sun rays in the morning as it perched through dew. The beaconing of hope and flicker of desires of what was yet to be, burnt vehemently in our eyes; yet still remained elusive. But the angst, the blood rush in my veins as our senses heightened, drove us to a distant world. A world broader than ourselves. Where, like waterlily on shores we could float. Lest we forgot to close our eyes.
There was silence. Nothing new. But the rhythm of our lips as they munched against one another in soft abrassion. The tasteless taste of saliva as they exchanged greetings in a two way traffic along a busy street; Was accompanied by the natural scent of animals breathing ghastly; the sweat that formed the creases of their beings. Nothing ever came close to the power of sniffed glue till thy moment. The odour of our smell mattered not anymore. This world, only but temporary, heeded better promises than begging for change along the streets.
Vehicles hooted. Mates, caught up in brawls over money, drugs, or somebody took more than he ought to; more than once hurled bitter words against themselves. At night, the chaotic streets tend to be calm and kind, but not to my kind. In darkness We awoke as we keep tabs on the streets. Always out to make livelihood from the lives of the unkinds who carelessly become our prey. Patrol officers always on the watch, they consider us as lost course. The masses distaste my kind. Enmity exists between my kind and the police. Shots frequently ricochets. Two days ago a stray bullet maimed One of us, an eight year old boy. They called the press saying it was “robbery with violence, the authority had to act quick”. Shame. We are the infidels.
In chaos such as this, we find peace and happiness in our ownselves; however infinitesimal. Here, lies my crib, my space. No furniture but just piles of rags which plays the part of a bed. It’s dark. Needles for administering narcotics nakedly punctuates the floor. Here we lie. Assuming it’s the perfect place to be. Oblivious to the sounds of cockroaches and rats in a hit and run on empty cans of whisky. There’s silence not anymore. Her long dark nails embeds my back; scratching my skin, peeling off layers of my epidermis. My fingers braze her unkempt hair.
The first time we kissed we were high on glue; in our precipices it made us strong, made us who we are, to break the chains of hunger and forget of the outside world. We knew no better when to stop nor what next. Duty was calling; I had to pull myself from her and be on the watch as others slept. This is my home. Dark, saddened with melancholic hues. This is a forgotten world where those who dwell survive. Not everyone thrives.
(Master Of Descriptions)
After the strings had sounded it’s highest pitch, Kaka could not wait for a second coming. He withdrew his instrument which had by then loosened its strings and showed signs of _not ready to play the tune of pleasure again_. He quickly raised himself while pulling his trousers and fastening his belt as quick as he could. It was as if he had saw trouble twerk at the face of the earth. He was happy. He was sad. He felt proud of himself. He felt ashamed of himself. He was confused like _Swalla_ in a list of gospel songs. Moods wings, I don’t know. But of all, there was this that persisted without seeking his advice :Guilt.
Diana remained prostrate on the savanna earth. She saw the moon rise from below the mountains. She felt ashamed that the moon, with its one eye, observed the undoing of her dignity. She began thinking but there was something itchy about her theatre of untold pleasure. The instrument had played the tune so loud. Then, she felt something wierd about herself. She felt hollow like something heavy but precious had been removed from her body. So she was happy to be light but sad to lose the precious thing. She was also experiencing mixed emotions and feelings. She decided not to rise but decided to watch the moon glow with brightness for it had seen what was an abomination in the savanna land. To add insult to the obvious wound, it had watched it happen with its naked eye, no clouds to impose a PG rating.
Tears are destiny chemicals that when shed wash away dust of misfortune and disappointment that we can view our destiny more brighter. She shed tears uncontrollably as if she wanted to view her destiny in three dimensions. With a torn dress and a soiled dignity, the tears reminded her of how she was no longer a good girl. Kaka noticed that his partner in the music of pleasure was having problems coping with reality. He ignored the strident voices and sounds condemning him and listened to the soft voiced thought of helping her. He went down and laid Diana’s head on his chest. They did not talk. For ten minutes, they did not talk. Diana raised her head and looked deep into the eyes of Kaka. She could still feel that spark of desire ignite her into flames.
Kaka hugged her tight. He knew he was to blame. It was a crime described as penetration by the enlightened. The law abiding citizens call it sexual immorality. He felt pity for the girl and more and more guilty about himself. Meanwhile, Diana could feel the abyss slowly fill with a desire. She got better and better the more she listened to the rhythm of Kaka’s heart beating soundly. She was at peace once again. That was what she wanted. That was what she needed.
Kaka watched the girl lie peacefully on his chest. Since every man is a member of the ever salivating boys of the vibrant _Mafisi Sacco_, wierd thoughts started bombarding his eroded brain. He could feel his strings tightening once more. ‘Do it again, what is it that you fear? She loves you look at how secure she is with you. You fear sin? What sin? Man, you’ve done it. You are now a bad boy , feast on it while it lasts!’. Once a bad boy, always a bad boy. He vowed.
His voice stroked all her pleasure zones. She looked up and a smile escaped amid tears rolling. This was the assurance that he needed. It evaporated his saturated sorrows and melted away his guilt. Diana felt the same and thought of opening up only that a trace of guilt existed in her blood.
It is artistic how light chases away darkness unapologetically while darkness slowly covers light while swallowing it with pleasure in a silent tone. Darkness had ruled the sky and they realized it was time to say goodbye. It was time to walk alone regardless a Liverpool fan or not. Kaka stole a glance on Diana. She never appeared innocent to him. He knew that he could not stand a one minute face-to-face, eye-to-eye dialogue. What was wrong?
Diana stood, tried to mend her torn dress by tying knots to cover her soiled dignity. Her efforts showed no signs of being near to achieving any success. She stopped. Kaka stood, extended a hand for a handshake as a signature for all that happened that evening. Diana looked at his hand. Raised hers and amid officiating the informal events, she dropped her hand. She declined. She raised her eyes to the moon, lowered them to the savanna earth, then stood firm. She jumped onto Kaka and hugged him. She was crying. The thought of tears on the girl’s face saddened him. He took her arms and made her look at him with that lusty look. As they were an inch closer to a _proper sendoff_, something happened. They heard a cough right behind the Acacia tree….
Pin point everything you detest about death; like a butcher, lace them up! Place them on the table; one by one we wanna cut them into pieces! Sieve them! Feed them to the stray dogs if we have to. Or perhaps; whence the verdict is given; carry death high on our shoulders; praise him; beat drums and sing victory songs.
Death is on trial; handcuffed; in a frail body that supports itself with a stick; he feebly walks along the hallways into the courtroom; where the masses await! His skin, visibly pale, shows no signs of life; He makes his presence known; he talks less, but even in his speechless traits, silence envelopes in the midst! The masses who thirst for his blood; constantly shouts;
“Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!”;
while spurting mucously thick saliva on the defendant; oblivious of the court rules; are mad with rage! But this doesn’t bother him too!
Onto ye! Where are the plaintiffs?
The judge makes an entry; He is rather a huge old man, with round glasses that slightly suspend itself on the nape of his puffy nose; leaving space between his eyebrows and his glasses; he’s slow to everything! Slow to sit; slow to speech; slow to think! But quick for food. His face, graced with cholesterol. His belly sags; none of his robe befits him; his belly button protrudes revealing his hairy stomach. But this too we’ve become accustomed to. He is good at his work. He’s of sound mind.
The masses are the plaintiffs; in existence are the victims of death, stakeholders of death and policy makers!
Heads down like hens scrapping into the ground; Each group conversing amongst themselves.
Meanwhile, opposite the jury, stares death. He smiles deviously like he owns the court. Yes he does! He summoned everyone here, or yet he volunteered to be the accused. Everyone knows him. Everyone abhors him. The CNN, BBC… The camera’s are on. The world is watching; *”Breaking news: A trial for death.”* This is what he wanted. An audience for his muse.
“Can we have silence in the court?!!!”
The murmurs dim away slowly.
As though in an agreement; the rest of the policy makers sit back as their representative rise to speak.
*POLICY MAKER:* “We think we have a solution on how to deal with death…”
The jury draw attention to him. As silence prevail. Even death himself seem to be perturbly curious. Curious about his end time.
*THE JUDGE:* “Let’s hear it”
*POLICY MAKER:* “To solve the mystery of death… To banish death from our societies then its prudent to erase its roots”
*THE JUDGE:* “Where are its roots? I’ll be delighted to know”
At this point, death has nothing on his defense; he didn’t prepare for this. He never scripted this part. He has no idea what’s on the table.
*POLICY MAKER:* The Coffin Makers!
The masses burst into uncontrollable laughter. Death on the other end; takes a deep breath as he rests his handcuffs on the bar. Deep inside, he says to himself, “it wasn’t life threatening anyway!”.
The judge hammers his gavel; at once order is restored.
*THE JUDGE:* Do you have plausible evidence to support you sir!??
*POLICY MAKER:* yes, your honor
He clears his throat as everyone awaits.
*POLICY MAKER:* we should pass a law that bars carpenters from making coffins. This is the reason why…..
Before he continue; A voice of a middle aged man sprouts from the masses. Dressed in a blue overall. Tooth brown with tarn. His shaggy hair laced with particles of timber. On his ears lies a pencil. He speaks with vigor.
“Then what!!? You’ll feed our family for us? We don’t ask people to die. We don’t advertise the coffins. Its the people who place orders… Young man I respect you but watch how you trade….!!!”
As if he’s the priest signalling the congregation to hurl Amen; the rest of the carpenters in unison, “Yess! That’s right!!”
*THE JUDGE:* (As he slams the gavel) This trial shall end today. The court will go into a recess for 30 minutes, to allow the carpenters and the policy makers come to a compromise.
(Slams the gavel again)
Lonely; death looks around in sympathy. He has no one to care for him.
As the masses walk out of the courtroom. The judge takes 15 seconds to step from his chair. He whispers something along the lines of, “God. I’m starving” its inaudible. Nobody pays attention.
The court is now empty; only silence reigns. And death sits there unmoved. I ignore it as I finalise my notes.
(Master Of Descriptions)
Against all the odds,
We place our bets,
Our team tactfully picked,
Now…watch us play!
I am the captain,
Of the Faceless Squad,
To the pitch I will lead,
With our thumbs we shall print.
Enough is enough,
Death to the tyrants,
An end to the regime,
For we got the power,now we rise!
Stand up for all,
Choose the future we need,
Not with twigs and placards,
But with the print on that paper!
Hold me close,
Breathe in me,
For I’m yours.
Strum my strings,
Pound my walls,
Break my cover,
To you I surrender.
Sing our song,
Hit that gong,
Feel that resounding beat,
Let’s melt in this heat.
Let’s mash it all up,
For its our ecstasy!
Son…respect a woman,
For you are a gentleman,
And not ‘coz she is a woman,
I remember his words.
Hold your blade up straight,
Taking smooth but firm strokes,
As you keenly look in the mirror,
For that’s how you shave your beard.
Give a firm handshake,
As your stance you maintain,
For in words nations have been built,
And many a like destroyed.
His words echo deep in me,
As I look into your eyes,
I see the same innocence I had,
I know my time to pass it on is nigh.