Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Of lessons learnt

 I have been walking the earth on my toes, in a feline fashion. Evading with sheer stealth lessons that were hang out not to dry, but were simply there for reference like the way one looks through the dictionary to find new vocabulary. Lessons that were written on a stranger’s face and in a friend’s smile. Lessons that I knew were truths but had to go through a five step program to finally come to terms with. Let me share with you the lessons that I have plastered on the walls of my mind.

I have learnt that every hospital corridor has that one security guard tapping his rungu on the wall as if a ritual to chase his ennui away. While traversing the same hospital corridors I have learnt that fighting isn’t necessary violent. Fighting doesn’t always draw bold or result in broken bones. Fighting is about victory that despite the fact that her hair falls out in chunks and the bills are obscenely huge getting just one more day to see the sun shine is the victory. That is what makes the fight worthwhile.

I have learnt how to be close to my heart because I only have one heart but also how to be estranged from it because it will one day betray me and stop beating; for reasons purely natural or  scientific or perhaps even  sexual . 

 I have learnt that randomness is omnipresent. It cannot be contained. It is free and it never picks an individual. An individual picks randomness. It is an adventure or misadventure risk. An adventure in the times when you become the lucky few who is excluded from watching the paint dry. Misadventure, when the consequences of randomness play dodgy games with your conscious and vital body organs, consequences that draw the line between this breath and the next one.

I have learnt that; I am a fraction with the common denominator being love, numerators coming in thirds of decency, ugly and creativity. I have learnt that decency transcends overexposed cleavages and visible panty lines. That creativity was bestowed upon me so that I would to wear my ugly as an accessory not to treat it as an accessory to my loneliness.

I have learnt that hand holding is not necessarily a manifestation of love; often it mimics love. It pretends to be the cure after that spoon filled with misery quickly dilutes a bucketful of love. That hand holding could be an ending sign, not one of continuity or longevity.

I have learnt that everything is numerical. That in the end everything boils down to numbers. How many lovers you have had, how much fuel your car consumes, how far you have to climb before you reach the top of the ladder. That the exception to this lesson is God’s love, which is measured in the vastness of the sea and the ocean’s tide, and its uncanny ability to reach the heavens.

I have learnt that observation is bogus way to pretend to be living. Waiting in restaurants and on city council benches or on sidewalks watching the world go on as you wait is not living, it’s occupying space and not squarely so. I cannot say what living is but I know its more that this mundane act that  I have learned to call my life.

I have learnt that I have been in an abusive relationship my passion and dreams. We haven’t treated each other right in a long time. We haven’t given each other the best.  They attempted to walk out on me but I held on to them adhesively. I too, tried to leave in pursuit of simpler passions and but they haunted me, in my waking and in my dreaming. We have decided to give it another go rekindling the embers of what once was, one day at a time.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Her name is Leilani
She lies in God’s hands
Underneath that transparent glass
She’s having little conversions with God

 Leilani is;
 Heavenly; drawn from the veins of God
If you listen carefully
their hearts beat in synchrony

 uses her tiny fingers to play
 join the dots with God’s grace and mercy
Ensconced in the alcoves of His love

Leilani is ;
Is an answered prayer
 We sent letters to her
with borrowed stamps from God’s post office

Has us praying in whispers in five minute intervals
And shouting loudly in by the hour
She walks among angels now

She will steal the heaven’s affection
Like she stole the earth’s
We laughed on our knees
 now we cry on our knees

We will never see her feet in high heels touch the ground
or her hair draped across her back
or hear the voice that was fashioned in her voice box
or see her hold a pencil

But she crawls leaving footprints on God’s heart
She smiles at us through the sun
And soothes our hurt with fat drops of rain
She uses her little fingers to draw her masterpiece
 That shows us, she is safe in God’s hands

For Leilani:Hello,Goodbye

Friday, November 23, 2012

The crack in the wall lets the light in...........

The same crack allows darkness to creep in, which more often than not carries along with it the forty thieves, one of whom will steal her most prized possession: her heart. Just before she gives in, she puts up a fight like Spartacus but with breasts and amazing eye –rolling abilities but eventually the “do not trespass” and “do not sit on the grass” signs quickly fade. The once bold paint is washed away by letters so beautifully calligraphed, and acts almost miraculous, she begins to wonder why God didn’t pick this guy to write a few chapters in the Bible.

 That’s the consequence for not mending the crack in the wall. A Swahili saying roots itself in her mind “usipo ziba ufa, utajenga ukuta” It's followed by the relief that she won’t have to rebuild the wall on her own because he brought down  a good number of bricks from the wall to get in, right? He talked a citadel into being ensconced, made it warm and tore it down, endured fire-breathing dragons and PMS.Is it too much to ask for a white picket fence? Is it so unreasonable?

Jobs take place of school, colleagues become her new classmates, the world; her school. A process of unlearning unfolds before her in the real world. There isn’t really a happily ever after or a glass slipper or seven dwarfs with funny names and caricatured faces and with unlearning comes learning.
She learns that the ocean is salty because that is where all tears gather once they run down your cheeks. She learns that picket fences co-exist with the camera that films them. She learns that bleeding is not always the result of a cut. She learns that hers wasn’t the only wall that had a crack, which had light attracting strangers with promises of lower mortgage rates.

By the ocean, she sits and weeps. She weeps for the broken down walls that now have her exposed,unclothed,unguarded. She weeps for the jargon that once existed between her soul and his.  She weeps for all the  lovely words of what she meant to say to him that met their demise just before the escaped her lips. She weeps her eyes out leaving them for the ocean to search for a love and bring it back to her.  She weeps for a love that has her begging  not for picket fences nor champagne kisses or caviar dreams; but a chance, just a chance intangible yet a means to survival; just a chance.

The crack in the wall lets the light in


Thursday, October 18, 2012

Inspired poerty

This poem is inspired by a man who is seemingly a ghost,an apparition that appears in my dreams

night after night.He's a ghost that's got me sending prayers to God's heart every night before I lay

my head to sleep.I call it :

Inspired by..........

I write of him who not only stole my heart but also has me chasing after the 27th letter on Sesame Street.
He’s got me frantically searching for infinity in dumpsters and wading through big bird’s yellow feathers.

I write of him who brings to light the common “it don’t take a whole day to recognize sunshine”
 He is the secret ingredient in the ambrosia that bestows immortality upon Greek gods.

I write of him who improves the smell of rain, smells that encapsulate wheat in the grain
 He sweats in scents that merge with plants and trees releasing butterflies prematurely from their cocoons.

I write of him that stole the tunes from the songs of Lawino
 He plays pied piper to the butterflies that come to life in her stomach when he’s close by or far away

I write of him that brings ambiguity to odyssey 
 His ingenious wordplay, the fashion in which he forges words from pen to pen to pen