THE PARADOX

Someone must lose for another to win,
Someone must fall for another to rise,
Someone must stop for another to start,
Someone must die for another to thrive,

I talked to a hearse operator,
He lamented to me,
"My friends, times are hard,
people are not dying,
If it continues like this,
We will be out of business,
People need to die my friend.

Then I met the morgue attendant,
He was with the chief pathologist,
Both basking in the dull sun on the morgue lawns.
He was gloomy and dull,
Then he began ranting,
"Business is low,
body counts have fallen,
If this trend continues,
I will have to pack up my gloves,
The post mortems are few,
My kids will go hungry,
My wife may leave me soon,
If people refuse to die.

Then I met the doctor,
He had on his face this plastic smile,
He shook my hand with a wicked glint
in his eye,
When I told him I am not seeking
medical attention,
He hit the roof for losing his precious
consultation fee.
I kept my smile,
He opened up,
"My friend, the times are hard," he confessed.
"The hospital beds are empty,
The queues are short,
The number of sick people be has drastically dropped.
I am afraid my dear friend that at this rate,
I may have to wind up practice."
My good doctor said.

I left the hearse operator praying,
May the Lord bless the work of his hand.
I left the morgue operator thinking,
Death is such a good thing,
Someone needs to die for the pathologist
to earn his daily bread.
I left the doctor thinking,
Someone needs to fall sick,
The medic must not wind up practice.
His lovely kids must not lack school fees,
Oh God, may you bless the work of his hands.

As my prayer ended,
I found me standing at the foot of my epitaph,
The creator of the masterpiece smiled,
I could see him singing as he made it,
The casket designer I never met was dancing too
as he made me a masterpiece,
The chorus and dance was marvellous,
The best part was the closing line of these
forgotten service providers,
"A hot meal at last, thank heavens."
The punchline ended the song,
I woke up dancing too,
dancing and meditatively thinking,
thinking about the awesome balance
that life is,
Dying to live in the process.
So I am stick in this paradox,
Taking a nap with my one eye open,
Lest I slip into the unfathomable depths
of the cousin of death, laymen call her sleep.
No deaths and no sickness
translate to no business and no profits,
No matter the case,
Man must live.

#Camistare2018
#TheLoudThoughtsOfaSilentPen
#TheReflectionsOfThePoet
#TheMusingsOfaMadMan

CROSSROADS

I have been told for so long to be a man, a real man and I am in a crisis, I battle demons, I fight darkness, I beat myself, I search within for that real man and I still haven't figured out how to be one.

I have no spine, I lack the back bone, or may be I have them but know nothing about being a real man, the one they always tell me to be.
I am weak, I am soft, I dream, I let emotions run their course, I feel when as a man I should be cold, hard as stone.

I am still hanging in here walking blindly in the hope that I will find the man they want me to be that I know nothing of. I feel helpless but then again, how does a real man ask for help? How does he say the right thing he needs to say? What guarantee does he have that the very words he may say in that one moment of self abandon to his weakness will not be used to witness against his manliness when the hands of the clock turn? The more I think about it, the deeper I sink into this dark abyss, lost yet I can't ask for directions lest I get lost further than I am now in the process of being directed.

I know I have tried and keep trying but what is trying when you have nothing to show for it? What proves you have done something when there are little or no positive results to show for it? How do you explain when things beyond your control cannot allow you to be where you ought to be? How do you even explain how long it is taking or has taken when the judge, jury and executioner already know the outcome, when your sentence is already passed no matter your defense, proof and evidence to the contrary?

I wake up in the morning, look at myself in the mirror and see a pathetic failure, a veritable coward, a man without balls and to make it worse, they never miss the chance to remind me of that. Their voices replay in my head like a stuck grammaphone reminding me that I am nothing but empty trousers, beards, bass and different genitals.

Sometimes I wake up because I must. I think of life, of where I am and where I know I should be and I hate the morning sun, it announces proudly to me, the beginning of a new day, a chapter in the Chronicles of a chronic failure, it reminds me of another trial that flops, it reminds me of the how hard I have tried in the silent moments that I keep under wraps, the things I do without announcing, the plans, the dreams and visions I have since learnt to be aftaid to speak about loudly because they make no sense when there is no evidence of progress.

I swear I hang on because of the smile of a little girl who awakens the child in me. Sometimes I fight because of her, I keep fighting because of her and sometimes I wake up and face these dark days because when I think about her I tell myself, I can do this one more day.

I am waiting to be a man, a real man like the men out there, a true definition of a man that I have never been and may become or never become in future. The future that has always promised me heaven and delivered hell. Maybe one day I will find him, we will unite and become one and I will begin talking where all real men talk. I will find him one day or find a gun, put it in the head of this other weak man and send him to the other world so that the real man may finally reveal himself. I hate this man, I loathe him, I can't stand him but I keep hanging in there even though he disappoints me. I am at crossroads, the only thing that keeps me here from turning back is the hope that I might just accidentally stumble upon the right path in this darkness and find a miracle.

The story of my life depresses me. The pressure to become, the pressure to prove is overwhelming, what can a mortal man do? May the day break before the darkness takes me to where I can never return, the point of no return keeps calling me, every morning I wake up it entices me seductively, she asks me, what else is there to hold on to? What is there to live for? What is there to fight for? May the day break, for the night has been too long and I am afraid I can't take it anymore because each passing day  my strength is falling me, I am a weak man I agree, but how strong can I be when being strong over the years has left me with nothing, not even a morsel of self dignity. May the day break.

#TheMusingsOfaMadMan
#Camistare2019
#TheLoudThoughtsOfaSilentPen
#ReflectionsOfThePoet

LOVE LOST IN THE MIST (PEELING THE LAYERS)

(A MIRAGE)

Some years back there was this girl who had a mad crush on me, everyone knew it, I too saw and knew it. She was beautiful, drop dead gorgeous, sharp looks I can't deny, a little bit of sophistication here and there, good taste and a sprinkle of class. I must admit that at one point I seriously took note of her too and developed quite an interest. Interest enough to try reaching out but at every point I was met with silly obstacles. Unreal things that even a completely blind eye could see, fake-ness so pronounced that even a bewitched mind could pick out.

I naturally loath making phone calls but can write a million words in a day, blame it on me, blame it on my poor phone call manners and my addiction to the written. Anyway, I approached the damsel and established contact, asked her if I could text to say hi or just check on how she was doing on the other side of the world from time to time. When she told me, "I don't do texts," I folded my tail between my slim legs like a scared dog that has passed through a treatment of the funeral catering service providers, ate humble pie and graciously walked away.

But, that is not actually the real reason why I walked away, the real reason lies in the fakeness I saw in the act, the trying to be something that is not that was glaringly apparent in the statement, maybe I would have called if I had seen a tiny morsel of real-ness rather than a person trying so hard to be something else to impress, I never called. Later in life those calls came from the other side of the phone line but my train by then had long left the station, real-ness had swept me off my feet and tied me to her, my soul was at rest and seeds of love had by then become beautiful scented flowers waiting to bring forth sweet fruits - the fruits have indeed come in folds over the years but that is a story for another day.

Back to my crush, it hit me that if maybe she didn't do texts she would be a tech savvy sophist so I asked her what she calls herself on Facebook for starters, I did ask because on Facebook and over the social media as you commonly know, even people you know have names you have never heard of and photos you can't recognize. My sole intention then had been expressly to initiate conversation there but then again the answer came, "I am sorry I don't do Facebook." Again I saw the fakeness as I backed down, I knew she did that Facebook and maybe more.

I went quiet for a while and when I saw her again with her classy touch screen phone, I again asked her, are you on WhatsApp? The reply came, "I don't do WhatsApp dear" as her well manicured slim fingers caressed the phone screen, never mind I was operating a stone age Mosaic era stone tablet by then, very efficient with the battery, network and as a source of light when thieves appear. How I miss my mulika mwizi.
I remember then telling myself loudly inside my head, "Oh! Oh! here we go again."

Alas and behold! It did not take even two years after that and there, I had a Facebook friend request from the very one who never did Facebook, her names were of cause not the ones I know but at least her photos were.

As we go back to the studio for a short commercial break, I need to report to you  that we have ocassionaly chatted on WhatsApp from time to time and exchanged texts here and there.

I must admit that at times, I have been so tempted by this strong urge, sometimes I have felt a strong urge akin to someone hard pressed by a full bladder of urine to ask her, "how come you do these very things?" I have however kept my cool, it is called the art of keeping lanes.

Along to journey, somewhere along this station, my train left the station a long time ago and arrived at a different destination where true love attracted me, drew me, and like a moth to the light, I flew, arrived and has ever since been bewitched and imprisoned by the warm light of a real loves afterglow. The difference of being just real all through is fulfilling beyond compare and the need to act the part is none existent.

In the epilogue, someone came back when I had already been taken, the empty seats that existed by then are totally occupied and not even the walkway between the seats is empty. Furthermore, I have never seen her again through the very eyes I used to see her with, those brown eyes of the poet were taken by someone else who has  been with me in this same train savouring the scenic beauties of our journey together as we travel along. Though she keeps seeing me, roadblocks, barriers and appropriate signs have I erected in place that define clearly the boundaries and where trespass cannot be allowed but is bound to be prosecuted spelt out clearly too.

As we get back on air, my home is firmly settled in this new train I have been in with this real queen with fairies long dead and gone. I am totally at peace and living a full life but most importantly, all that is here is real, the good, the bad and the ugly, the perfection and flaws. And that is what love is, naked abandon.

#TheChroniclesOfMyLoveLife
#ReflectionsOfThePoet
#Camistare2018
#WuonMor
#JaodNyaIsukha

A NOTE TO NYAKANO

Dear Jaber,

It's long since daddy said something to you,
But he has been saying a million things within him,
Even with just  the thought of you.
So in a twisted way these very thoughts refused
to be  a soliloquy inside daddy.

You radiate the sun itself,
You replicate the beauty of a full moon
on a clear night sky at Sidho in the vast Kano plains.
You remind me of stars on such a night,
and the stars remind me of your mother.
Memories, dreams, wishes, instances,
events and moments intertwined.

Nyar Yimbo,
You are the reason why the sky is blue,
I swear it's true for I see it when I look at you.
Dark clouds on my horizon,
they melt like ice somewhere in Lokichar
or magadi to total oblivion -
even just with the thought of you.

You are the reason why the earth spins on it's axis,
I mean it when I speak this.
I am trying to remember what life was
or rather how it was before you happened,
Before you appeared and took over every nook and cranny
 of my atmosphere.
What seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks , months and years
were before you appeared,
I swear I am blank like a plain printing paper.
The data must have been erased for all I remember,
is life after you came.
The past is a mist, a collection of empty spaces.

Yours Forever
The Poet

#Camistare2018
#ReflectionsOfThePoet
#TotoaBaba
#TheLoudThoughtsOfaSilentPen
#FatherhoodChronicles