Her lashes flattered over my chest, it was ticklish, sensual. I could barely keep the urge in. I held her tiny buns with my firm palm and pulled her up and closer. Her thighs right over mine- crossed behind my back, her arms locked over my shoulders; I felt her body shiver. It was neither fear nor the rush of spiteful cold. It was lust rushing through her veins. It felt like Ganga had found its way in her body and the night tides were raging through her. My heart beat like a sledge over hot iron. It had purpose. It was sending me a message. and for every second that ticked. I obliged. Our eyes met, I glanced deep into the vortex of her deep brown pupil. I could see how much she wanted me. The universe didn't oppose, it set the mood right, It was time for our souls to intertwine combine and seal us together. Her back was warm, my luck had grown so I pulled her in closing out all room for us to falter. She closed her eyes. The time was now. I felt hefty between my groin , her nipples were firm, I could feel them press against me, tender! Oh so tender.So I reached in for her lower lip, my eyes closed, my mind out of service. My heart beat- it had turned into an orchestra of percussion drums and hers, even though I was mildly deaf sounded like a conga. If they ripped them out our chests they would march away singing kumbaya- At least there we'd lay locked in each other for our souls to travel up hand in hand from our top most chakra. But reality was with us, not against us, and her lip was cold but sweet like a cherry Popsicle. Once mine enveloped hers, our body heat rose, it felt like someone had turned up the heat. Yet it was just her and I on my floor bed with a window ajar and white drape waving with a slug as the breeze rolled in. Her body was confused, I felt goosebumps rush up her back, and with passionate swoon, I slipped my tongue past her "lips". I intended to go deep till I had the door bell ring...
Conjolted Poetry
Monday, 26 September 2016
Sunday, 11 September 2016
The Nigerian High Commission
Their holiday begun as expected with the sound of Adhan. A prayer call that their father made every morning before he'd dress up to watch news then leave for work. Once they rose and prayed along side him in their small home mosque, their father made his way to the second sitting room and turned on BBC to catch up with the cruel world. The boys matched right across and made their way to the black leather seats- cold until occupied by many hours of posterior heat. They turned on the console and their fingers thumped away at the pads.
I had visited Ngugi for the weekend. so this time round, he didn't rise early. We slept late hanging out on the rooftop balcony playing table tennis- their fathers favourite pass time. When we woke up, barely freshened, we went down stairs to the kitchen to look for bread in the pantry and make ourselves some tea by the bar like stools that were in the middle of the kitchen besides a marbled kitchen counter. We could hear his brother's voices roar in distress. One of them must have been on the offensive so panic arose. After having our ginger tea scented with tea masala spice, we scattered through the corridor, past the stair case and joined them. They were fully engaged. So Ngugi, the joker stood right in front of the Sony TV that was atop oak wood. His brothers threw a fit and the other managed to score and break into celebration. Ngugi dashed to the parking lot trailed by his elder brother. He run past the telecommunication mast that was in their yard near the boys quarter. He took a turn up the drive way to the gate polished in glimmering black. His brother gave up on the chase and hollered from the bottom of the slope;
"IWE LINDHA KU, WENAH KUGHEMA, NDA KHWITA!" A threat to kill him if he caught him. Ngugi panting like a worn out street dog with a smile to change the world. Stood their a moment to catch his breath then made his way back to the house through the immediate drive way that lead to the main sitting room. He passed by his mother and said, "Good morning Mummy." uncertain on whether she replied as he made his darted to the second sitting room to meet us. The moment was past them and he had been forgiven. So he suggested they go out and play. Their home was a castle; a neverland. They lived a luxurious central town life on the lavish residential area of Kololo hills, Uganda. It had massive parking space for their fleet of second hand cars and enough compound space for the kids to play football and ride around on their bicycles. Ngugi grabbed his skateboard and made his way to the gate to start them off, He rolled down the hill swerving past the mast with a near miss and ended up in the parking lot sheltered with a blue tent top. I followed right after on the two wheel scooter. I rolled down with ease until I picked up speed then lost control. I tumbled down, fast as an f1 car. I failed to make the turn so I hit the pavement that was right ahead of me and the grass cushioned my fall. Ngugi's elder brother came in right after me and was doing the famous no brakes stunt that Ngugi, invented. He failed to make a wide enough turn to enter the corner. So he went right for the mast, hit the pavement that separated it from the road and landed right into its base. His wild laugh turned to moon silence. I watched Ngugi drop his board in shock and run to call his mother. Their mother came in complaining in a strange language. I stood in awe wondering what she was going to do to us. She picked him and asked him if he was okay. He wasn't! He was trembling like a wet cat, blood spilling out of his mouth hiding his broken tooth. She quickly carried him into the car, raved towards the gate, and took him to the nearest hospital.
He was brought back home that evening and was mad as a scorned woman due to the pain. Ngugi held his giggles for later, I had been taken home early because of the tragic incident.
It was a beautiful holiday despite the tragedy. Many days after, they packed up and moved elsewhere. Their home leased out to the Nigerian high commision, Uganda.
I had visited Ngugi for the weekend. so this time round, he didn't rise early. We slept late hanging out on the rooftop balcony playing table tennis- their fathers favourite pass time. When we woke up, barely freshened, we went down stairs to the kitchen to look for bread in the pantry and make ourselves some tea by the bar like stools that were in the middle of the kitchen besides a marbled kitchen counter. We could hear his brother's voices roar in distress. One of them must have been on the offensive so panic arose. After having our ginger tea scented with tea masala spice, we scattered through the corridor, past the stair case and joined them. They were fully engaged. So Ngugi, the joker stood right in front of the Sony TV that was atop oak wood. His brothers threw a fit and the other managed to score and break into celebration. Ngugi dashed to the parking lot trailed by his elder brother. He run past the telecommunication mast that was in their yard near the boys quarter. He took a turn up the drive way to the gate polished in glimmering black. His brother gave up on the chase and hollered from the bottom of the slope;
"IWE LINDHA KU, WENAH KUGHEMA, NDA KHWITA!" A threat to kill him if he caught him. Ngugi panting like a worn out street dog with a smile to change the world. Stood their a moment to catch his breath then made his way back to the house through the immediate drive way that lead to the main sitting room. He passed by his mother and said, "Good morning Mummy." uncertain on whether she replied as he made his darted to the second sitting room to meet us. The moment was past them and he had been forgiven. So he suggested they go out and play. Their home was a castle; a neverland. They lived a luxurious central town life on the lavish residential area of Kololo hills, Uganda. It had massive parking space for their fleet of second hand cars and enough compound space for the kids to play football and ride around on their bicycles. Ngugi grabbed his skateboard and made his way to the gate to start them off, He rolled down the hill swerving past the mast with a near miss and ended up in the parking lot sheltered with a blue tent top. I followed right after on the two wheel scooter. I rolled down with ease until I picked up speed then lost control. I tumbled down, fast as an f1 car. I failed to make the turn so I hit the pavement that was right ahead of me and the grass cushioned my fall. Ngugi's elder brother came in right after me and was doing the famous no brakes stunt that Ngugi, invented. He failed to make a wide enough turn to enter the corner. So he went right for the mast, hit the pavement that separated it from the road and landed right into its base. His wild laugh turned to moon silence. I watched Ngugi drop his board in shock and run to call his mother. Their mother came in complaining in a strange language. I stood in awe wondering what she was going to do to us. She picked him and asked him if he was okay. He wasn't! He was trembling like a wet cat, blood spilling out of his mouth hiding his broken tooth. She quickly carried him into the car, raved towards the gate, and took him to the nearest hospital.
He was brought back home that evening and was mad as a scorned woman due to the pain. Ngugi held his giggles for later, I had been taken home early because of the tragic incident.
It was a beautiful holiday despite the tragedy. Many days after, they packed up and moved elsewhere. Their home leased out to the Nigerian high commision, Uganda.
Sunday, 4 September 2016
Catching up
I am currently doing a creative writing course. Hence the stories.
I am on a journey of growth, so I am taking break from the poetry until I feel ready to extricate my feelings with new parlance But for anyone out there that reads my posts and poetry, I really appreciate!! Than you so much, so much.
Stay well, Find comfort and peace in the worlds uproar.
I am on a journey of growth, so I am taking break from the poetry until I feel ready to extricate my feelings with new parlance But for anyone out there that reads my posts and poetry, I really appreciate!! Than you so much, so much.
Stay well, Find comfort and peace in the worlds uproar.
A trip to the suburb market
He grabbed his favourite.shoes from the rack. Beige in color, light and easy to wear similar to the famous "jotti" shoes "circus freaks" wore for their acts. He had been in India a few weeks and was yearning a home cooked meal. The spices and diarrhea had stuck him out.
It was about 5.45 pm, The city was wired block to block, with cable tv, electric wires, and internet cables. If you had electrophobia you'd worry day-long. He had somewhat overcome his fear despite the beautiful view out his window- a central point for the neighbourhood's internet connection.
The skies were grey and threatening to throw rhinos from the sky. They often teased when the monsoon season came around. He didn't carry an umbrella on him, I guess he felt rain proof. His biggest worry despite the wires running up above was getting shocked so he always wore boots hoping they'd protect him.
After locking his door with an extra nudge and bolting it to secure- he set off and run down the stairs. A quick agile man that still had plenty of energy to leap over steps given the opportunity.
A couple of blocks away, embraced by the dampness of the city, he walked past stray dogs, and city goats living gracefully in the suburb.
The town had wafts of dung in the air. Cows took shits all over the place with no fucks to give. Drizzles started to pour from the clouds, he started to worry, he kept walking. The market wasn't far so he didn't feel discouraged. The drizzles turned into mild pours from the skies, he held his sweater over his head to cover him...
In a flash, the street lights went out. Darkness consumed the street but people kept on with their business.. It wasn't a new happening to them, so he did like the Romans and soldiered on . The septic by the side of the road was overflowing, his shoes got wet trying to leap over it and landing into a puddle. He was overwhelmed, like a child with no voice to speak.
He kept trekking and a couple of blocks down the road he reached the market stools. The market vendors on the pavements covered their merchandise with poly-bags from the rain, while others used "tela gari's," with roof tops to carry their merchandise. Clearly designed and prepped for the monsoon season.
"tum kya chahte ho?" What do you want? one of the vendors asked him.
"1kg rice, 1kg potatoes" he said.
She bobbed her head in approval and weighed his rice, then potatoes. She put the rice in its own polythene, Then he handed her his synthetic shopping bag where she placed all his groceries. The power came back at about this time and he thought to himself, 'thank God!'
"80 rupees," she said, as she bobbed her headed once again. He pulled the cash from the back pocket of is dun brown chino.
"dhanyavad" thank you, he said in a shaky tone due to uncertainty then bobbed his head, it was contagious practice.
When she handed him the bag, he turned round and made his way back. The rains had sort of faded, It was now chilly, petrichor emanated from the ground as it had been a couple of days since it rained. The smell of dung was now faint, or maybe he had grown accustomed to it. Minutes later, he was home hanging his sweater to dry from the rain that had soaked it.
It was about 5.45 pm, The city was wired block to block, with cable tv, electric wires, and internet cables. If you had electrophobia you'd worry day-long. He had somewhat overcome his fear despite the beautiful view out his window- a central point for the neighbourhood's internet connection.
The skies were grey and threatening to throw rhinos from the sky. They often teased when the monsoon season came around. He didn't carry an umbrella on him, I guess he felt rain proof. His biggest worry despite the wires running up above was getting shocked so he always wore boots hoping they'd protect him.
After locking his door with an extra nudge and bolting it to secure- he set off and run down the stairs. A quick agile man that still had plenty of energy to leap over steps given the opportunity.
A couple of blocks away, embraced by the dampness of the city, he walked past stray dogs, and city goats living gracefully in the suburb.
The town had wafts of dung in the air. Cows took shits all over the place with no fucks to give. Drizzles started to pour from the clouds, he started to worry, he kept walking. The market wasn't far so he didn't feel discouraged. The drizzles turned into mild pours from the skies, he held his sweater over his head to cover him...
In a flash, the street lights went out. Darkness consumed the street but people kept on with their business.. It wasn't a new happening to them, so he did like the Romans and soldiered on . The septic by the side of the road was overflowing, his shoes got wet trying to leap over it and landing into a puddle. He was overwhelmed, like a child with no voice to speak.
He kept trekking and a couple of blocks down the road he reached the market stools. The market vendors on the pavements covered their merchandise with poly-bags from the rain, while others used "tela gari's," with roof tops to carry their merchandise. Clearly designed and prepped for the monsoon season.
"tum kya chahte ho?" What do you want? one of the vendors asked him.
"1kg rice, 1kg potatoes" he said.
She bobbed her head in approval and weighed his rice, then potatoes. She put the rice in its own polythene, Then he handed her his synthetic shopping bag where she placed all his groceries. The power came back at about this time and he thought to himself, 'thank God!'
"80 rupees," she said, as she bobbed her headed once again. He pulled the cash from the back pocket of is dun brown chino.
"dhanyavad" thank you, he said in a shaky tone due to uncertainty then bobbed his head, it was contagious practice.
When she handed him the bag, he turned round and made his way back. The rains had sort of faded, It was now chilly, petrichor emanated from the ground as it had been a couple of days since it rained. The smell of dung was now faint, or maybe he had grown accustomed to it. Minutes later, he was home hanging his sweater to dry from the rain that had soaked it.
"Fatso"
Look at you! You can barely tie your laces. I caught you at 3 am last night when I woke to pee and all you could tell me was, "I'm starving, mahn..." You should write a guide on how to grow fat and not care.' I remember when we were younger, for some reason, mum thought you were sick. You looked like those kids in UNICEF ads; so malnourished! I know it's awful to say; ayeh, it makes me wonder if Africa's the only place with starving folks? Now for some odd reason, you train tracked your way to chubby land. You're a star I tell you, you're a star! Often we look at some of our friends and aren't sure whether they are the cause of their current state. Most times we point fingers and say they didn't see the ditch right before them when they fell into it, and truth is we are wrong. Body structures differ and so do weight preferences. But, I've watched you day and night knit your fat suit, now your telling me you can't fit into your new shirt.
At the break of dawn, you rise in the morn like all you dreamt of was walking through Charlie's chocolate factory. You reach out for the candy bars that you vault some where in your room, scuffle through the polyester shopping bag, only to pick out your favourite snickers bars. Your fingers rub them like smeagol and his precious ring. You then rip them open and deep the whole bar of calories into your hippo mouth, one by one. Then you sleep them off for a few hours and wake up to your kings breakfast. Cassava, chapatti, boiled eggs to stir up your farts, a pair of sausages to wrap in your chapatti, and a mug of thick porridge. The doctor said we should have balanced diet, you've blown the advice out of proportion. You wake up at 11 am, have your brunch meal and then demand your lunch at 1.30 pm. I wonder where your food goes? I mean you're a big vessel and all but what goes down there seems to be going through a bottomless pit. I'm not making fun of you or anything, I'm sure you know this saying, "ebyenaku bisekebwa" (misery is often funny). I'm just pointing out what you fuss to me about. But what am I supposed to do when after lunch you're asking if there are any snacks in the fridge? Then you go ahead and check it a million times, like you have a lamp some where in your room that you're going to rub and a genie's going to hook you up with a bite. You spend all your money on nothing constructive, you're a 23 year old man with a senseless mind of a teenager. All you buy yourself is dunkin' donuts and Oreos to deep in milk. I love my Oreos but you don't see me swimming in a pool of them! You have to get yourself together, telling me how you feel isn't going to make the situation better. You have to quit eating dinner like you've never had a meal in your life and snacking up all night. It's outrageous, it truly is. It's a good thing went shopping yesterday. All those mirrors in the dressing room were a wake up call. It's best you get your shit together and stop whining about your weight yet you can't change your ways.
At the break of dawn, you rise in the morn like all you dreamt of was walking through Charlie's chocolate factory. You reach out for the candy bars that you vault some where in your room, scuffle through the polyester shopping bag, only to pick out your favourite snickers bars. Your fingers rub them like smeagol and his precious ring. You then rip them open and deep the whole bar of calories into your hippo mouth, one by one. Then you sleep them off for a few hours and wake up to your kings breakfast. Cassava, chapatti, boiled eggs to stir up your farts, a pair of sausages to wrap in your chapatti, and a mug of thick porridge. The doctor said we should have balanced diet, you've blown the advice out of proportion. You wake up at 11 am, have your brunch meal and then demand your lunch at 1.30 pm. I wonder where your food goes? I mean you're a big vessel and all but what goes down there seems to be going through a bottomless pit. I'm not making fun of you or anything, I'm sure you know this saying, "ebyenaku bisekebwa" (misery is often funny). I'm just pointing out what you fuss to me about. But what am I supposed to do when after lunch you're asking if there are any snacks in the fridge? Then you go ahead and check it a million times, like you have a lamp some where in your room that you're going to rub and a genie's going to hook you up with a bite. You spend all your money on nothing constructive, you're a 23 year old man with a senseless mind of a teenager. All you buy yourself is dunkin' donuts and Oreos to deep in milk. I love my Oreos but you don't see me swimming in a pool of them! You have to get yourself together, telling me how you feel isn't going to make the situation better. You have to quit eating dinner like you've never had a meal in your life and snacking up all night. It's outrageous, it truly is. It's a good thing went shopping yesterday. All those mirrors in the dressing room were a wake up call. It's best you get your shit together and stop whining about your weight yet you can't change your ways.
Wheels of death
The treads of my Yamaha whisked over the scorching asphalt. It was a hot afternoon, the kind that made your hair itch if you had a helmet on. I rode like a dare devil. I was about halfway way the stretch on the service rode heading home, riding inches away from the rail that cut of the main highway. Before me was madman in his maruti Suzuki backing up on one of the feeder roads to return towards my way and concord towards his afternoon duties. He came into the service road like a truck and didn't see me coming on my invisible motorbike. I tried to swerve and miss him as he turned, he run into me like a matador. My life didn't flash before me, no! The collision sent me flying, I was superman over his bonnet. My motorbike was hit to the side and half its body parts lay on the road, as the oils dripped right out. It felt like it bled. I landed on my backpack full of books, They cushioned my fall and I rolled till my right foot thumped the ground and halted me. I got dazed, my eyes partially blind with glares floating before me. I could feel my ankle pulsating and like acid drops dripping onto me I felt agony from my dripping wounds.
I don't know where people came from to surround me, but a bunch of onlookers darted towards me and carried me to the side of the road. I could barely breathe and was overwhelmed by the crowd around me asking questions in Hindi that I didn't speak. a couple other fellows dashed for the culprit trying to make a run for it. They caught him and banged at his door till he came out of his car guilty and shamed for attempting to flee...
I don't know where people came from to surround me, but a bunch of onlookers darted towards me and carried me to the side of the road. I could barely breathe and was overwhelmed by the crowd around me asking questions in Hindi that I didn't speak. a couple other fellows dashed for the culprit trying to make a run for it. They caught him and banged at his door till he came out of his car guilty and shamed for attempting to flee...
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