Tag: wdys
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The confinement
I did not know the couple were childless. I had assumed they were recently married. And so when I got the mild rebuke to stop being friendly towards the children on the compound, it made no sense to me. “This is my spiritual father. He came all the way from Mali to attend my wedding.”…
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strange times
It all started with village folktales. Of ghosts loitering in the silence of midnight, stalking a wandering stranger or a lone recalcitrant youth returning home late. As mother lowered the wick of the lantern, the darkness in the room loomed large. I shut my eyes tight, careful to not think about dark tales of the…
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Isn’t a struggle a story ?
I stare at the picture,wondering what to write,noticing my first lines do not rhyme and have no consistent metre I question my motives.To express, or impress ?Maybe I digressto thoughts with no themes. Isn’t a struggle a story?Shouldn’t this writers’ blockbe time to pause,to see beauty even in what seems sordid? https://wp.me/paf3ao-n9y
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same sleep unites them
they gave her water and clayand she molded out history and storiessitting in the soil for centuries… they went to bed at different timesbut the same sleep unites them different facessculpted on different daysmolded out of same clay Different beginnings Same tale from dust they camenaked and not ashamedone by one they withered and felllike…
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night falls with its eyesores
as night falls with its eyesoreshawling memories of the day beyond the horizonhordes of people return homesome to mess, and debtsmurmuring in low tonesothers return with relief,glad to have found the holy paycheckto purchase their daily breadand peacesinging Hallelujahloud enough to be heardeven in Californiabut however your day may beI hope the lessons can be…
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Her name is Samira
My weakness was that I couldn’t be discreet. Which was why when I fell in love with the cook, the affair was like an open secret. Was it love? I couldn’t tell what label to put on a mixture of lust, loneliness and desperation. She didn’t resist my advances, neither did she give me the…
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boredom is a blessing
boredom is a blessingfertile grounds for sowingconsistent habits into daily routines just aseverything has a nameso doeseverything has its place just aseveryone has their tastesso doeseveryone has their pace soevery time you face delaysin your hasty climb to famejustlock your focus onto that Rock of AgesWho never fails, never shames, never wanes
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A lonely trip to Tripoli
a lonely trip to Tripoliwhere abandoned motel light bulbs dangle in violent windslike the balls of a bull in motioncasting concrete eerie shadowson squeaky doors with no keysscreaming softlyas if mourning the death of a once buoyant city a lone guitarist plays for the listening windsmessages that never reach the earsof the sleeping, heaving wavesof…
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Butukwen and his mother
Her son had a challenge. Physically, he was alright. Mentally, he was unstable, couldn’t sit at one place and behaved more like a toddler for his age. Personally, I felt his mother should have looked for a personal teacher for him, a teacher who taught him at home. Or maybe, the school should have separate…
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Tension
The receptionists were new. I exploited their inability to distinguish guests from staff. Slowly, I approach their desk. A stranger desperate to bypass them without being checked will try hurrying past while they were attending to some visitors, and this usually aroused their suspicions. I’ve been observing all this from a distance. And so, I…
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