journey through

I am jealous Everyday a volcano boils and simmers inside me. It is one planning to erupt but doesn’t know when and how. If I had the guts I’d talk before it is late but how should I when I occupy the dark side of your life? How should I get noticed when I am just a breeze wafting over the desert? Who will see me when I am just a candle on a massive chandelier, a spark in a bush inferno? I am jealous of they that flock your side and drink from your cup. I am jealous of all of them that take off their coats to cover you on a cold day and the hands that strive to cuddle you when night slowly creeps in. I am jealous of all of them, those knights that have a choice of horses. If you could just notice my mule... she does not run fast but she can run far. She cannot neigh to your command but she will never rebel against your wish. I am jealous, because I am that tiny star that children do not notice at night but you are the moon, the centre of the night, you are the sky, and I am jus...

It is my mouth that went dry and my eyes that fell dark. It was your hands, slippery as eels and your teeth, sharper than a shark’s. Maybe if you smiled instead of grimacing love would have found you but you were hard and rigid. You pushed them away and hugged yourself. You condemned the rescuers together with the victims. You chased away the Christians together with the sinners, now who will get a hold of you? Who will glue you together now that you are crumbling? You were in the light, how on earth couldn’t I have seen you fading? Maybe if you turned away from your fantasy and looked to the other side you would have seen, but you were drunk, drunk on rose petals and starry eyes. You were stoned and hooked to whispers on your neck and honey in your ears. You fell hard, you broke apart and had your parts spattered and scattered all around. You tried and I chocked seeing you that way, trying to say but words don’t come out. You want to stand again but you are a lump of mud in the r...

Children of the day I was there, at that rally with charged atmospheres and frenzied moans. I heard them throw words around and share their second hand jokes about. I was there when he came, the shouts, the cheers and the waves. I saw his pomp and colour when he arrived, naked people laying their coats on the ground so he wouldn’t touch the soil. I was there when the sweet words flowed like milk and honey and when the bitter interjections found their way to our pallid ears. I was there when he stood on the dais and pushed his meaty fingers into the scaly dry air. I saw his mouth move and dry words tumble out and the eager youths swallowed them like one gulps down dry bread on a hot day. I was standing right there when a lone word caught the ears of the irate body builders and an old man was yanked from among the people and thrashed in public. I shall not forget the surge of curiosity and the sound of hands meeting with faces and feeble legs meeting unproductive groins. It shall ...

I do not know why I look to the south where it is not about to rain and wish to be there, but then again, why do I crave water? Why do I struggle to reach the sun yet my roots are about to wither? Why do I want to play in the whirlwind while my throat is this parched? It is this hunger for new roads that wakes in me. It is lust for the sun and infatuation with the moon that leaves me drunk. Where art thou, my lovely quilt? Come out before the perfect sun is covered by the clouds. Show up before the mighty wind sweeps all the pollen away. Stab at the paper, my dear pen, tear the pages apart, wring the quilt dry. Put a permanent tattoo on the bland pages till my hands tire and bend. Write on, talk on, shout on, for in you I find freedom and escape. In you I am mother Theresa, a prince charming, a god. Stab on, and write my chronicles. Tell them all of me, a villain, a hero, a living ghost, a dead human being. Write of my exploits, both true and false. Write of my conquests and my fa...

Hold me steady, young man for my bones quiver hard within me. Where is blindness when you need one? Where is death when its name invokes sweet memories in you? Take me, oh mighty horse before the mother of my grandchildren sprays me with dust from her car. Suffocate me, oh ye bitter aroma of cold coffee, before I breath the rancid aura of her stinky armpits. This woman, she has taught my grandchildren to speak with a strange tongue, one that I don’t in the least comprehend. Pity my son, a man whose testicles have crawled back to their musty hideout. He whimpers when she speaks and goes under the table when she coughs. My son is a coward, jumping at the sound of the shadows and cowering at the sight of her ghost. The boy I brought up is not the man I see now. He is a disgrace, a dog that barks in whispers and runs away from the echoes. I asked him someday if she was the only woman in the world but he didn’t answer. I watch him every day as he disappears into her exaggerated chest...