Mysterious Familiarity

In darkness, her voice is light.

Light breeze sweeping me off my feet

Feet sliding to a rhythm, burning slow

Slow dancing in the pale shadow of a tear.

A tear, tearing my heart apart

A note, high pitched and adhesive to my soul

Soul music that makes her whole

And gives her temporary joy

She steps forward to reach the happiness she longs to have.

Then, in an instant, someone’s unkind word sends her

Spiralling back to a world of self- doubt.

A world only she knows too well.

She makes music, all she has is her voice.

A voice that breaks the heart,

Music that fixes the soul

None has seen her

Maybe it’s stage fright, maybe not.

I wonder what is hidden behind the voice

I want to know what her eyes look like

Only because I can relate to her

She is a mystery, a familiar one.

PS: I was inspired to write this after listening to Sia’s music for the first time.

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Tomorrow

If tomorrow never comes,

Bury me with sky diamonds for you know I fear the dark.

Bury me with a bulletproof vest for the words that got stuck in my throat

Which were once as soft as the bristles of the brushes that painted the galaxy

but are now words of steel, that threaten to shoot out of my throat.

They may leave a few holes on your body as well.

If tomorrow never comes,

Say to the earth that cultivated me,

“Even the leaves that once scudded along the stony path in nature’s hues of green and gold are nowhere to be found.”

Say to the rain that watered my existence,

”Even Saraswati was silenced”

And sink them in your Warmth of your embrace.

Warmth that makes the future, within its walls, less bleak.

But if tomorrow comes,

Then let’s rise at dawn to gather crooked sticks and draw straight lines.

Let’s call a Spade a Spade while it’s life has not been subdued by rust that fusiforms.

Let’s invite the rain in, cool and fresh

And embrace the deadly pangs of the sun just as deeply.

Voices in my head

My voice has cousins. They live in my head. One tells me that happily ever after is an illusion. The other says dreams do come true. One tells me to work hard and smart and be all that they said I couldn’t be. The other tells me to spend my last fifty on rum and Cola and drink my dreams away on my mama’s Sofa. One tells me to work out and eat fruits and vegetables. The other tells me to binge on junk because I deserve nice things. One tells me to give love a last shot but the other won’t stop yelling about my past experiences.

Looking these two lovers sends me spiralling back to a familiar world of emotional imbalance. Love, a small word with a big concept. I have fallen in and out of love. Some have built thrones for me on cloud nine; others have sent me on an express way to hell.

I recall my last relationship. Kweku was all a daydreamer like me could ask for. Tall, strong and handsome, he was my Hercules. He gave me the best of both worlds and in my eyes he could do no wrong until he cut the ground from under my feet. We both shared a savings account that held my whole life together. Every pesewa I toiled for went into that account with the hope of creating our desirable future together. Then that day came. I went to the bank in high spirits. I made inquiries about the progress of the account only to be plagued with horror.

The account balance had been transferred to a foreign account upon request made by one out of the two beneficiaries and it wasn’t me. The only thing that could calm the storm in me was a chilled bottle of malt but that was the last thing on my mind. Without thinking twice, I called him. It went to voice mail.

My thoughts shuttle between the past and the now. The lovers are still at it. The woman yells some words at the man in fury. The man holds her firmly and says something to her that calms her down. I am not in earshot.

It’s raining heavily with so many thoughts in my head that it leaves a flood of memories. The two lovers talking in front of the bus stop have now become blurred images as my mind drifts back to my world.

Kweku moved out of the country and never contacted me. Since then, love has been a can of worms for me. And who wants to have worms for breakfast? The voices in my head are driving me crazy. To give love another chance is the pain that leaves me numb. The two lovers are in sight again. The man takes out a cheque-size paper and hands it to the girl. The lady accepts it, mutters some words and walk away. The man looks at the walking figure with disdain, laughs boisterously and walks away.

I don’t have the least idea about their problems and differences but I have mine to think about. The bus halts with a screeching sound in front of me. I hop on with the voices still in my head. Only now, the voices in my head have voices in their heads.

#menaretrash

( I threw in the hashtag for the culture *winks*)

Thanks for joining me!

Find what you love and let it kill you- Charles Bukowski

Hi there, You’re probably wondering why I say I’m mad. Well, I’m mad by association. Most writers are seen as mad people and since I’m one…it really isn’t rocket science is it? I’m mad but I’m magic. * Winks*  Charles Bukowski is my spirit animal.I’m twenty something years old and still living on my mama’s couch. On my good days you’ll find me making contributions to political debates because I’m a political animal (You are too). On my worst days, I’m a poet. Occasionally I throw in a short story here and a novella there.

I hope you enjoy my stuff and if you ever find yourself questioning it, remember that I don’t even know what I’m doing.

AJ