WHEN I DIE

How I want it when I die
One day when I finally die, I want to be buried within twenty four hours, with a simple casket, did I say buried? No! I don't want to be buried, I want to be cremated, and my ashes can be put in an urn only if my surviving family wishes so as a souvenir to them but if not, not even those ashes should be taken away. They should be left for the wind to blow away to paradise.

I don't want every Tom, Dick and Harry at my funeral, it should be exclusively for my immediate family, nuclear family, extended few who are actually family and not some crazy relations tied to me with nothing more than a name or a bloodline. At the crematorium, I want only my true few friends there, not people who claim to be my friends, that list should or may turn out to be as few as ten but I only want friends who have been friends to give me my last farewell, not people I have worked for or with, not people I go to church or fellowship with and nothing more, not people I went to school or sat in the same class with and shared nothing more. I want my true friends and actual family at my final farewell.

I want a simple funeral, nothing expensive, nothing flashy and nothing to write home about. My funeral should not be more important than the life I currently live. I will deeply appreciate and literally rest in peace if at that funeral people don't out do each other in sending public relations condolences, if "sad" friends suddenly pop out of everywhere when I actually never had any while alive. I will deeply appreciate if at that funeral people don't say things about me that they have never told me now, in fact, if it was up to me, the funeral would be a quiet one with no words spoken.

I know many will disagree with my desire to be cremated, they will talk about things like my culture and religion and what it allows and or disallows but my wish still stands. I dare state that there is always a first time for everything and I don't mind being the first in line. On the day I die, don't burry me, cremate my useless remains. I want simplicity, I want peace, and I want truth when I finally cross over. If at worse you cannot cremate me within twenty four hours or at most seventy two, throw my body for the hyenas at Masaai Mara or the crocodiles of River Nzoia or let it feed the hungry shacks of the ocean for that would make me more useful.

Bottom line is, my dead body is of no use and should not be treated better than the man I am now when I still have breath in my nostrils. On the day I go over to the other world, just burn me to ashes. My heart, soul and spirit will thank you greatly from the other side. I don't want to be buried when I die, I want to be cremated.
And this is my final will.

#TheMusingsOfaMadMan
#TheLoudThoughtsOfASilentPen
#WishesOfTheLivingDead
#Camistare2019
www.camistarespoken.blogspot.com

ONE DAY I WILL WRITE ABOUT THE LOVE I LOST

She loved me enough to walk away, loved me so deeply to let go for that is how she put it. I always thought if she ever left I would die and I was right because when she left I died to all that I ever lived for. It all sounded like a joke or maybe to her it was, it must have been just another text, "Hi! I think we should take a break" That's where we began. I didn't know it then but was to soon find out first hand that the girl of my dreams actually loved me enough to know that we had no future together. She could not see it, we could not be and she was right. It was her last self-sacrificial act of unrequited love.

How could I be right when she knew what was best for both of us? The worst part of it was that she kept telling me it had nothing to do with me, it was all about her.

Soon I found myself hanging in the balance, dangerously swerving at the edges of the stiff cliffs, tittering on the brinks of total destruction, failing at all attempts to hold it together. I was officially caught between a rock and a hard place. I was doomed if I communicated, doomed if I didn't, doomed if I reached out and doomed if I didn't and then before I knew it, everything went South and my whole life went with it. I remember the countless nights I would sit in my darkroom with lights out and stare at my phone, endless days I locked myself indoors, beneath the blankets for even daylight depressed me, constantly hoping, praying, craving, longing for just a text from her, battling within myself whether to send her one and offend her or hold it still and die a little more inside for that love.

I remember those days when a "please call me" text would have meant more than a million pages of love poems or a million shillings MPESA message yet they never came, all I had were blank screens and painful aches that no medicine known to man can treat. For days I lived, ate and slept, walked absent-mindedly in the streets hoping for that vibration from my phone, checking it every time if maybe she had called and I didn't hear but she never called and I was damned if I called her. The further we grew asunder the deeper my heart craved for her arms or even just her voice. Even harsh abusive words from her over the phone would have healed my rotting wounds. I waited and waited for my dreams to come true but as the clock ticked only my nightmares became more profound. Reality finally dawned on me that she had actually left me, maybe for the love of a better man that is if men really love.

People tell me about  hell but I have been somewhere worse, I don't think it scares me. Desperation became my most reliable friend, company and ever-present companion. Loneliness was more faithful to me than our undying love. All because I loved her and she were right when I was wrong.

The light within my soul went out, I ran in shame from the light, retreated to a dark corner where my dead spirit could rest in peace away from the prying eyes but those eyes, damn the eyes, they always found their way to me. As I lost myself, everything else went with the man that I was yet I was stuck. I was in a dilemma because even had I found the words, how do the dead speak to the living? Can the living really understand what death feels like even if the dead man found words to accurately relate his dead state? How do you explain losing your mind to people who have theirs intact?

How does a dead man survive in the world of the living? Yet there I was every rising sun trying to act warm and okay, swift and agile with my dead cold corpse and stiff remains. Man must live, I kept telling myself every single day.

One day I will talk about this pain but not even words can express it's depth, ferocity, and magnitude, those words are yet to be found. I am however wrong, I am still a child and a stupid one at that, a spoiled little kid without control of his own emotions that's why my broken pieces would still plead within, "Oh God but I love her" Kneel my broken being and scattered pieces and pray fervently to a God who had either gone on a honeymoon and switched off all his communication lines or plugged his ears with soundproofed headphones blaring loud music yet I never stopped. My broken pieces kept pleading my cause even in their state of nothingness, the bleeding mess and scattered pieces kept asking God, "But God I love her, please bring her back," and he never answered me. Oh poor silly me, how was I supposed to know that men never love? How was the naive me supposed to understand the gravity of the statements; "all men are........." "you men are.....?"

I guess only the love experts know it too well so I keep right-wrong with me to save you the agony of feeling a man's internal turmoil that should not even exist in the first place. I am still yet to find closure. It has been tricky because I still don't know exactly why she ever left, maybe I will never know but I will right my misled outlook and thank the heart that bled and healed, gift the soul that rose from the ashes, grease the bones that rose from the grave and salute the heart that recollected her broken pieces and thank her for being whole again. I owe my heart this story so I will let her tell it when she - my heart- finally gathers the guts to speak about what she went through. One day I will talk about the love I lost.

#TheMusingsOfAMadMan

#TheLoudThoughtsOfASilentPen

#Camistare2019

#ThePoet

#TheChroniclesOfDepression

#WoundsAndScars

#UnfinishedBusiness