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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Monday, 20 October 2014

Our concrete jungle

52 years of "independence"
trying to forge a way past our drapes
as if sinners on botox repentance,
whilst we Feed on shadow games like grapes;

We are like Romans by the pool side, "Yeh Sebo!"
Busking behind a "good life shadow."
yet behind the curtains; we are drooling,
longing for change like it's going to come in cargo.

Ayeh this is our jungle,
where by stature we need no streetlights,
where even if we are 50 years behind we're still humble;
like crested cranes, yet find no need for our traffic lights.

This shadow we play in,
is one cast by our colonial God fathers,
the caretakers of the landlocked jungle we are in,
"the leaders", "the animal whisperers."

Our concrete structures,
on delicate foundation,
rot from within with fractures,
beautiful outward like "US"
yet within; it's a disgrace..

The king of the jungle has pawns,
hyenas that laugh away in the caucus,
a pride, some of which like hippos sit and yawn,
hungry for what we know yet ineffective like carcass

Don't get me wrong,
we have giraffes that see and report live,
they bring us the news so we script; a thong as a thong,
and among us, yes there're rhinos that take charge of our lives.

But us, the monkeys swinging on branches,
hanging low like melting snow off eaves
we are cold and famished like we have munchies
so we struggle like artists yearning for a show;

Ayeh, is it guaranteed?

The king kongs in their towered thrones,
thrived but who knows if they were thrifty?
Who knows who they had to sleep with like drones?
Or was it that they caught a case of lucky lefty?

Our roads are not murram, they are jungle like,
the only thing they lack is that malodorous stench;
although, in comparison to animals we're unlike,
in our own shit is where we sleep and drench.

Excuse my French but these are the habits of our lives-
they aren't underlying, hey are overflowing
on the surface out in the open like bees to a hive,
we are untamed, it's a shame but we are trying!


I see with my queer eyes,

A blood red river,
laid out in Syria-
spelling out;
" lebensunwertes Leben;"
ayeh, is any life,
unworthy of life?


Dajjal aiming for the throne,
darting towards the weak
to pierce them like thorns.
Has our time neared closure?


A social media flood,
causing a deluge of social elephants,
standing in "pride" yet mere ants,
why do we look to pride to feel alive?


Terrorists terrorising and agonising
fighting against what is haram,
but what is haram for I no longer understand
who a "terrorist" is?


Sodom and gomora,
doing it before the camera.
It's been seen and done before,
somewhat like a whore,
one does only wonder
what pushes the peddle of this gaycycle?


Disease spreading like an aroma,
yet with every whiff,
one is prone to flat line
passed an indefinite comma.
Is this cookery our own cause?


Life's simplicity. being ruined
by our complexity.
1-1, makes nothing; ruins,
1+1, makes something.
Together we make two-morrow,
why are we always against each other?


The battle of a decaying culture

The battle of a decaying culture(I want to be me)

We are children of Afri-ca,
we shouldn't be afraid of Caucasians,
for it's been many a day still our fingers stuck on triggers,
from those trick stars that reaped us off in bright day.
took our glitz and glamour and left us to lay in hay,
and for our gold and ivory, we were handed arms,
as many of your arms were used to make their dams
They called it barter trade truth is all they spread was batter,
and left us fighting and killing our own brothers,
Pity, pity now we're running like Guinea pigs on a wheel,
we're fifty years behind and competing with our own race,
contracted to slavery like we're living in the past,
on a crush course journey for an unwritten plan.
such decadence! We're losing cultural preference,
as our innocence and dignity decay and erode for irrelevance.

It's no wonder they got US dressing u.s and u.k
But oui! we should look for a Puk,
unlock their BS and clad in fresh AK,
call it African class gunned by their Ak's,
Inflicted into believing we're dumb as they say,
so we grow up with our memory stored in cache
then they sell all their Western - Chinese shit,
third hand consumers and still it's the best there is,
numb to creativity we're living like blocks,
tuned to thinking about using force through glocks
Yet for our actions we just end up behind locks.
akin to the innocent with hair tied in knots
so this is for my deadlock brothers-
cutting off identity, just so they can fit in,
and also to those people forging accents trying to fit in.
To some it's nothing, yet we're losing all we are
And it hurts so bad that without Gps or final destination,
we're still riding on this wagon

I just want to be me,
an African born in great Africa- (me)
I don't want to be just another replica- (me!)
I just want to be a real black star- (me!)
an African born in great Africa (me)
I just want to be me,

The toothpick

'I don't imbibe in alcohol,
Nicotine and "herbs" don't
work my taste buds,
so I'm often caught in battle
against the toothpick,
after the scent of beef
has made me sick!'

La Cherri.

Dining alone is complicated. You have to find ways to make it look professional. I'm a good looking man (some things you'll never see) yet, I often find myself at dinner tables, eating the finest meals all alone. Which as you know , don't often come from the finest places.
Today I'm at la Cherri. My mother had been here, she always tries to keep in touch. Tells me I have the heart of my father; cold. It's no wonder I like to be alone. No one likes to stay around the cold without a heater. Ayeh, life changes you, I've been through a lot, haven't we all? So now I'm a foodie, it's where I find my joy. Fighting gluttony like any other addict caught in a trap.

"Excuse me! What is this?" Said the guy besides me to the waiter.
"Sir please, tone it down and tell me what the problem is." she said.
"TASTE THIS!" He spat to her face and stained her little white dress, dropped his utensil in fury and excused himself.
She looked like a stained rabbit, the poor thing. She run off to the back crying in shame.
At that point I was boiling, I hate to see innocent people hurt for no reason, it gives me flashbacks.

I pulled out a toothpick from my beard. I always kept one for some reason. Broke it in half and crept up behind the fool. He was taking a piss, so he didn't see me coming. I held him by his mouth, he tried to scream. Stubbed his chubby tummy to the right and poked in two tiny toothpick holes. Turned him round and made him sit in the cherry like urinal and his ass swallowed it whole.
He could barley understand what was happening, and I probably looked like a terrorist to him..
"Look at you, you FAT Bastard!" I said, barking like a coach. "I bet all that food won't help you now, huh?"
"Who are you?"
"Your gym instructor.'' I tried not have a crack at my own nonsense, rubbed my chin for a moment thinking of how to kill him. Then I had knocks on the door.
I stubbed him twice below his throat in quick motion. He was probably in a puddle of his blood by the time they opened My escape route was a narrow window.


Another diner, same old loner...
A four eyed fellow played the piano aside the bar.. He was good, a little rusty maybe.. The bass guitar sprung good vibes with each note plucked. There is a mystery in music. When the dark minors floated through the air, this drunk slur grabbed the waitress' ass. The worst thing about this restaurant was the little attention paid to the waiters. I once had a friend of mine quit because their boss never gave a goat's shit about them. So they'd be harassed like little church children.

"HEY! Have some FUCkin decency in you.." I barked at the fool..
"who said that?"
He was too drunk, was probably seeing crossed eyed...
I whispered, " your doctor."
Then he turned to me.. " was it you sir poking your short nose in my lunch?" I wondered if he's British accent was caused by the stars he was drinking.
'who gets drunk drinking dom pérignon?'
'What a waste of champagne! He clearly had he's mind on seeing stars and not drinking them'
"Oui.. you little tramp"
He called the waitress as she passed by,
"Please don't call me that sir, it's restaurant policy to wear these"
She thought her attire caused the fire from his foul mouth..
" I don't give a hoot.... Where is my food?" he slurred
"Sir you just made your order, You've been here only a few minutes, may I attend to someone else, please?"
" what kind of service is this, ey? I'd rather have diner at bloody slaughter house..."

'where you'd be the one to come quick?'
He's manners were sheepish, he frustrated me.
The he started rocking back and forth on the chair.
We were three people in the restaurant, it must have been a bad day for them or just one of those Monday afternoons.
The female dining away from us was too busy on her I pad to notice what was happening in the real world. Until this fool fell back and rolled onto the floor like he was doing a back flip.
He tried to pick himself up but he just slipped, kicked the table and fell back to the ground. One of the waitresses upon hearing the racket came out. She tried to help pick him up and he withdrew all he's stars onto her.. Trust me, it wasn't one of those star skied moments you'd gaze at forever.
I looked away trying to reserve my anger.
"You CUNT! look what you made me do" he said to her.
I flipped! I got up, held her and asked her if she was okay. For someone smothered in throw up, she kept her calm. I figured it happened before..
I held her hand and took her to the washroom; innocent gestures with intention.
She told me she'd be okay when we got to the door.. When I turned round, the drunk fool was behind us staggering trying to make his way to the rest room
"You fink you're some kind of Jesus, ey?"
His hands were on my switch at that point, I tried to walk past him and he shoved me but he bounced off.
He pulled back he's hair and some of the throw up splattered over my face..
At this point the tooth pick was brewing between my fingers...
Sheryl came out of the ladies. (I know, strange name huh?) I had zoned out biting my jaws wondering if I should knock the fool through the door...
She held my shoulder and said thank you, I cooled off for a second.
"Oooh, look whose back, Sheryl, the stripper..hahahaha." At that point, if I were her, I'd have thrown the toilet sit over him. Although I did punch him in the face, the sad part is, as Sheryl tried to scoot past him and then he threw up over her again. She quit that very moment, dropped her apron on the floor and stormed out. Poor Sheryl...
I held him by his loose strands of shirt as I prayed he would not baptise me. Pushed him into the bathroom, he was skinny and light as a feather, I felt like a bully. I stabbed his neck with the toothpick, blood squirted all over the floor as he screamed in pain. I stabbed him again to the left side of his neck, his skin was tough, I almost didn't get in. I then kicked him to the floor. His wails faded slowly, the blood from his veins must have been draining quick..
I washed my hands and rinsed my face by the sink, straightened out my collar and rushed out hoping I'd find Sheryl...

to be continued...

If there is...

If there is a God,

God must be infuriated.
ayeh, can't help but love us some more.
Probably feels pity,
for we're lost and sees us reverie

God must be disgusted by our narcissist ways.
which explains the throw up cascading as rain,
punishing us, yet amassing us with blessing.
Yet still, many of us are vain...

The gods must tremble when being worshipped,
for in their lowly unfulfilling ways,
they know they are but plural of the ultimate noun; God!
A three letter word that innately roams each tongue

God must have a love so deep!
that the infinite depth of universe must swirl in envy,
that the skies, clouds, stars, and milky way  aslo envy us
who busk in it with eyes closed like babies on a bosom

God cannot be a man or woman!
God is the creator of mars and Venus;
ayeh, God cannot be a man or woman.
there's difference between creator and created,

For if God was a man,
This life would be almost short of beauty,.
and if God was woman,
Jesus would have bloomed from rose folds

If there is God,

The skies, the stars, the clouds, the moon,
our envious enemies are living testimonies...
We should, bend down on our knees,
asking forgiveness, for we know not what we do.

Let it rain..

I know you want to smoke,
maybe fill your lungs
with a little bit of hope
ayeh, all it's going to do
is make you cough and choke,

Let it rain, my friend, let it rain...

The troubles of the world
might be caused by emeralds and pearls,
but all that glitters isn't gold,
and all that causes your body to bleed,
isn't always pain; it could glorious change.

Let it rain, my friend, let it rain..

The clouds have formed,
God has, as always; scripted.
and even though love today is unwritten.
pain which makes your heart ache,
 will pass, and like sun, joy will make its way.

Let it rain, my friend, let it rain...

It's the only way your heart will grow,
it's the only way you'll let go of  pain,
it's the only way your hazy eyes will see again.

Let it rain, my dear friend, let it rain...

Why live when you have to die?

Why live when you have to die?

A lot is unknown of her life,
some might never be known,
yet all in all she lived to the bone.

She mothered many,
with an iron fist of man;
grinding into the nitty gritty,
for life as it took her,
took her partner off duty.
Despite that, she still toiled,
raising sons and daughters,
feeding friends and family,
playing mother nature,
because that was just her nature...

She was a teacher,
her seeds can testify
for they did reap what they saw.
She taught us family came first,
and  human need never last.
All that walked through her doors,
dined to her fair and fine service,
Or at least left with a bottle of groundnuts,
To bid you farewell for taking time off to visit..

She was an adviser.
Advice doesn't come on silver platter,
most times it comes to us-
like rain on a sunny afternoon;
unwanted; unnecessary..
yet every drop of rain-
sent down from her cloud,
helped all or most of us grow,
into well nurtured human beings.

She was a friend,
she missed you dearly-
while you were away
trying to catch that morning worm.
Always asking;"nga toida kumbona ku?"
(why don't you come and see me?)
She always cared if you caught that worm,
congratulating you, patting you on the back,
and encouraging you with words of worth;

She was a grandmother.
with a fleet of baidukulu( grandchildren)
On days like eid,
she cut her nkoko nkulu. (Cock) feeding us all.
She might have scolded us,
ayeh, a good scold yields good manners!
So she fought for what was right,
I hope it's what she left.

Old age came with rage,
yet never withered her witty smile,
she gave it despite pain...
which often brought tears,
tears rupturing into fears.
albeit, she kept strong,
withstanding standing disease-
as if it were a storm...

Her strength was inspiring!
She gave answer to my question.
she lived as a teacher, preacher,
lover, mother, father, adviser,
caretaker, and most of all,
an inspiration;
a leaf for us to pick from our tree.

Death might have grabbed her by it's palms,
as she struggled to hold on in a hospital bed,
as many visitors came to bid her farewell;


It did raise to the sky an Angel!

The last bed

In her lahad she was made to lay,
towards sunnat, towards the kibla,
towards the direction of eternal hope.

"Nga kitalo..."

They prayed in unison,
even those that came with a vision;
to dine on last supper.

"Nga kitalo..."

She watched as they wailed with feeble lungs,
she must have been over joyed; peace, at last
despite the selfish gathering sending her back into earth.

"Nga kitalo..."

From her two and a half by eight feet grave,
she dropped her white cerecloth,
and rose to the sky with her face in bliss..

"Nga kitalo..."

The family re-united for the wrong yet right reason,
it's amazing how far apart they'd grown,
at least they got the chance to come back home

"Nga kitalo..."

They said on and on,
making my glass eyes crack-
close to breaking point...

"Nga kitalo..."

Broken, my pieces lay on a shoulder,
I'm supposed to be stronger but she's older,
I'm supposed to be supportive but she too was my jaja.

"Nga kitalo..."

Her son now fakes a smile-
behind blood shot eyes,
yet she'll never pick up the pieces...

"Nga kitalo..."

we can only hope and pray,
that she's high flapping her wings-
far enough where angels sing.

"Nga kitalo..."

Besides sorrow her death brought;
a new born and a fresh bond was wrought;
daughter from father, daughter and father,
finally, the sun rose

"Ekitalo tikigwesa kitabo..."

Growing up.

Growing up is tough in African tradition,
at least given chance to speak for myself.
Attention given is usually minimal,
yet it's also safe to say,
a lot of attention is equivalently as bad.
But grooming a child isn't something prescribed,
people do things in different manners,
some acceptable to stigma,
some related to dogma
but it's all just one big enigma.
So, I can't say I wasn't raised well,
at the end of the day,
I ask myself what I didn't get?

I'd say love.

Ayeh, in our tradition love is accompanied by money.
So if you can buy some honey,
spread your bread on both sides;
you're probably loved more than most.
and your host, unlike most,
has done his job as man of the house.
The journey is similar to plant,
you're irrigated all your life,
your blanket kisses you goodnight-
You're submerged in provision,
as they await you to mature,
to sprout into a firm trunk
on which you can stand on your own,
then roles roll over...
It's a scripture play out,
once you're in, its time for the wait,
when you're out, it's time for debate.
What food? Which clothes?
What school? What Uni?
All in all they strive to give you what you need.
and that's the greatest love of all;
provision till fate turns tables.
Growing up; therefore, is tough,
children lack mentors, guides, fathers.
They only have a provider and mother,
it's a tough world!
One were clearly mistakes are often repeated,
but whose to blame for tales of the old untold?
Whose to blame for the questions unquestioned?
It goes both ways, basically goes without say;
love is a two way street,
and very often in these relationships,
children find themselves strolling all alone,
and parents, feeling all alone.
So growth by collision is rarely intentional,
It's often as highway collisions are;

Ayeh ki? Ayeh beh!

I'm at a point of life where you back,
ayeh, you'd never want to go back,
yet what's ahead is so confusing,
you could consider drug abusing..

Ayeh ki? Ayeh beh!

I survived that during peer pressure,
okay I didn't, but it's safer to lie
considering as I write I'm not high.
okay lets just say I once fell victim

Ayeh ki? Ayeh Beh!

I'm no Cali fornication star, don't get me wrong,
I have been cast on life's stage with a big bong;
ayeh, that was just me being a sister in a thong,
I thereon sought chastity and bid my ways so long.

Ayeh ki? Ayeh Beh!

I often look back when my bag used to break my back.
See I've always been shy so school was such a drag,
I'm no medal winner, but hey! I have a few certificates.
was never top of my class; though, I once topped the back,

Ayeh ki? Ayeh BEH!

That didn't make me who I am now,
and even if life is still sort of looking bleak,
they'd never pay me enough to re-live my past.
If they could, I'd buy my way through the system.

Ayeh ki? Ayeh Beh!

In life you do what you have to and do it good,
at least strive rather than regret not having done your best.
Then march on even if you're not in the mood,
and for your own good pray to God you turn out shrewd.

Ayeh ki? Ayeh BEH!

That's not enough to get you there,
the sad part is; you'll never know what's enough,
till maybe when you sit back,
look at your mistakes, and have a good laugh.
Peace after a long day's work #Conjolted
Peace after  long days work.. (the grass is reefer :)

The muse...

I muse over my muse,
quite often she lives me amused.

She's a naked woman,
wrapped in orchid blue Kitegne,
and a crochet head wrap for crown.
She tells me tales of together,
where her and I live within a castle;
a Casablanca in Mombasa,

Where we'll swoon with each other
till the moon in it's fine hue
wavers due to dawn,
creeping out in the morn-
an ecstasy where her and I
entwine in promiscuity .

I muse over my muse,
quite often she gives me blues...

She's a boomerang,
when I pick her up to play,
I throw her and she returns.
When I leave her unattended,
she sulks like a homeless puppy,
gives me poodle eyes and I cry

I try to be sly so I ask her why,
she sulks yet I'm lonesome without her,
bored like a lone tree in a vast field,
in need of her to come around and cut me down,
chop me into blocks and turn me into pencil,
as she plays atop my thoughts till I write.

I muse over my muse,
quite often she blows my fuse...

She's a goddess
when she cat walks over my medulla,
she over powers my mind.
I start to struggle like a foot in a high heel,
high on thoughts I often seek escape,
If her heel broke it would be good fate.

Maybe then she'd tread softly;
ayeh, the light bulb in my mind,
will start to differ, start to flicker,
for she'd have gone silent like a mute,
and it'd blow and I'd be rendered of no use,
without the current that she induces.

I muse over my muse,
very often she leaves me confused.

Chissled heart

My heart was chiselled so it broke into pieces,
it's now like planks of wood used for bonfire.

I'm helpless, my battle cry is the insufficiency
of one to light my flame and keep it ablaze.

My heart burns like red coal mimicking molten lava;
ayeh, no one likes to light a bonfire unless it's necessary.

I remember 'fore my misery how firm it stood,
it was a Pando tree, firm trunk, beautiful leaves,

Till lumberjackie came to shiver me timbers,
and down I tumbled then stumbled onto earth.

My force against the wind released my chi,
I tried to fight the thief but she over powered me..

I only hope that one day I sprout anew...

For I'm now used as a donor, I donate firewood,
and every time they chop, a piece of my heart drops!

Broken to pieces I hurt as I share pieces of heart,
yet they are insufficient for they burn down to ashes.

I'm valuable yet insignificant and that's not sufficient.
so they seek me out only when it's convenient,

light up my pieces, stretch out their hands for my warmth,
play in the fire like kittens with yarn till yearning is satisfied,

and when fire stops burning, I'm left alone chocking
in morbid smoke and ashes of my once lit bonfire heart

A fire love...

If today was judgement day
I would hold your hand and stay,
stay with you even in flames,
and forever we would burn,
in our fire love, in our fire love...

But Judgement day has not come,
and if we are apart
we shoot for heaven like comets.
for then we are saints awaiting heaven's call,
alas inquisitive saints peeking through vents,
to see if surely love does cause one to fall,
and then bite off the forbidden fruit,
whereupon they wait for flames to scorch!

The scrolls said we were bound to meet,
indeed, with a cupid shot our flame lit;
our hearts caught the flame and we flee,
on our way we got stabbed by loathpids spear,
now we Fly apart we're free like birds
free to fly away from love if we chose,
yet love is what gives us our Phoenix wings

This love it burns for its forbidden,
it is unlit for we forbid it due to pain,
I'm a feng, you're a haung;
Birds of pride flying wide apart.
ayeh, I want you to light my bonfire heart.
I just don't know if I want to get hurt,
and I was asked to stay away from fire
but I'm a toddler; a gullible liar,
I'd sink just one more white lie to get you into fire....

The circle of love..

The circle of love.
I'm on my toes,
sprinting around in circles,
stuck in quick sand.
I'm chasing this wanted crook;
ayeh, I'm being tailed for the bounty on my heart,
someone's after my shadow to send me to love jail.

It's not a pride chase;
I wish it were,
it'd be easier for me to catch my prey.

I'd also know there's a reason,
why for some unknown reason,
my heart never crosses with hers;

It goes both ways...

Yet with hollow arteries,
I strive to lock hearts with a ghoul.
I dine my heart on a whiff of aroma,
never to taste or indulge in an actual feast,
at least now I know how famished my bounty hunter is;

The circle of love...

La rouge monstre

La rouge monstre
From depth of darkness,
you crept in to bring light;
a bright red light that flushed-
with a big bang howling;

You gobbled darkness,
harnessing fear through creation,
where out of respect,
the created fell in love with you...


Masks a face,
creating a facade-
 masquarading as beauty

Valor of Esmeralda

Valor of Esmeralda

Ooh Esmeralda,
What blade could cut your emerald heart?
It's of the finest water,
green with a slight beam.
I once tried to shutter-
your thick green garden,
little did I know,
you fought with silver.
and armoured your chest;
guarding your bosoms,
embodying your valour.
I struck! Only to ricochet,
my hit rebounding,
aiming right back at me-
shot! I lay bleeding,
all while I thought
my kisses were astounding,
that they could keep you,
a long way from searching-
alas! None kept you chaste.
and onto your saddle,
you hopped as I hoped
that on that one wishful day,
you'd bring me back my lot.
for you cracked open my chest,
folding it into a fine hem,
stabbing your palm in
reaching for my blood red ruby.
now here I lay in utter dread,
wondering if,
this empty chest will ever fight again?

Daddy's gone...

Daddy's gone,
Daddy's gone...

she now lays fast asleep on her own sweater;
a dmc car,  written off life's road.
no one to fix her, no one to look under the hood,
they'd rather see her mould up in dust and rain,
than feed her or give her chance to reign
Yet she's a princess; one that awaits to rule heaven...

Daddy's gone,
Daddy's gone...

He couldn't take her along on his journey,
said he didn't want her to feel the cold,
he'd rather she stay warm and safe with mother...
her sweater's but a rug; faded, old, and tired.
pale like her skin it can barely keep her warm.
and her mother, she vanished like the wind..

Daddy's gone..

He promised he'd buy her a new sweater,
ayeh could barely keep the promise of being her father,
and mother, she's as cold as her dead father..
she, like the rest, left her stranded in life's forest,
to face the wild yet she's just a mere child;
a joey that needs warmth from her mother's pocket...

Daddy's gone...

He's going to be a while,
he's stuck beneath the concrete
above which she now sleeps.
She has shade many, many tears,
mourned the loss of a man she revere
Who passed on like the night before-
she could sparkle like dew...

Daddy's gone,
Daddy's gone,
Daddy's gone...

He tried to fight the disease,
but it took him with much ease.
Now her troubles, they won't seize.
she only hopes for a miracle,
a chance for her to smile that old smile,
a chance for her to hold that old frail hand once again...

Daddy's gone,,,

Death took his life and he carried her soul with her.
She now tries to redeem it but she's stuck,
seeking solace in a world of people that are soulless..

Daddy's litte girl

Daddy's litte girl (Pre-tale to daddy's gone.)
Every after church at watoto she used to visit a bakery right besides. She forgot it's name; although
she savoured the moments their with her dad more than the moments lived within.

"He used to hold my hand tight and kiss me on the forehead every morning before he'd go off to work." She spoke such fine English.

'what a waste of such portent life,' I thought to myself.

"We'd stay at the bakery, just him and I. Mother hated church. So we'd stay there and he'd tell me stories, all his worries, we we're best friends.
On his days off, we'd visit the park, go for a swim or he'd carry me on his shoulders and into his car where we'd drive off to his office and I'd help him with extra work.
He hated leaving me alone, he hated hanging up the phone when he'd call home."

Not once did she tell stories of her mother, only how much she hated church. Maybe they never got along, maybe her mother had unresolved issues. whatever it was, Esther her daughter got all the love. if I were her I'd be jealous.

"So what happened to daddy?" I asked her.

"Daddy got ill. He tried to hold onto his dear life, but his dear wife made him miserable. She always complained, yet the doctor said high stress levels were not good for him. I never liked her, she's my mother, yes, but she was more like a stranger. She always seemed to have a hidden agenda. Her relatives never came home, they only spoke on the phone. worried more about whether he was dead, than how much longer he actually had to live. I hated them all, I hope God forgives me for my anger."

She shade tears with a little wail, she hated talking about her dad, it always wounded her even more.
Months after he had been diagnosed of thyroid cancer, his state worsened by the minute, it took him four months to collapse down the carved stair case right out of her room. He had just kissed her goodbye, after speed dialling  the ambulance to pick him from home. The sad part is, it took him to the hospital mortuary.
Not many days passed before more tragedy befell Esther. She woke up one morning and her mother had run off with everything, everything but her, her sweater, bed, the teddy bear her father had got her on her twelfth birthday (their last birthday), her pj's, and a couple shillings which she used to go to church that day...
Once she got to church, she prayed. Prayed so hard that all she could do was cry. No one understood her, they only wondered where her father was. It had been awhile since they blessed the fellowship with their presence. She never spoke to anyone after her prayer, she just walked out and went to the bakery where she sat by the pillar that was adjacent to it,
Lay her sweater to the floor, sat to the ground and cried, and cried, till she couldn't anymore.