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Post by Admin on Wed Oct 04, 2017 2:42 pm

Life inside the book was dynamic, sometimes it was terrifying, but most of the time it was entertaining and funny. The people in the book were friendly and very kind, girls were easy going and everyone used magic to simplify the work. When I started dating human beings in the book, things changed; love, as we all know, it was very powerful to change even the heart of the ghost. I tried to define it because its aftermaths nearly ruined my plan, but still I failed to uglify the concept. There are three types of love; the hot love, the lukewarm love and the cold or refrigerated love. Hot love is always active and sacrificial especially when it starts, lovers normally promise each other bigger things that even the gods cannot offer. For the rest, ask the wise man.
     Love is the sovereign preference of the soul; it’s the kingdom of fancy words and colorful games. It’s the territory of oneness: one man, one woman, one heart, one mind and one life. It’s one love that filled the heart of Sophia Herman, my endearing super woman. Seven bullets inside her breast escorted her to the early grave. Before she gave up the ghost, she left a very controversial will though it was never complete, but it was well noted. It was such a pity moment that an ink felt sad to touch the surface of the papyrus.
     She was at the hospital where she was admitted a day ago, at that time her guardian angel was roaming around the premises waiting for the perfect moment to take her soul. Sophia stared at me and told me to listen carefully. So I gathered myself and listened to the last words of the departing soul. She said, “Its dust everywhere, I’m standing amid this lunatic weather condition. From twenty miles away I can see frozen smiles on faces of some handsome tall buildings in town. My whereabouts is unknown; the dust has sheltered my presence and I can feel it from within. For an ordinary human being, it’s much better to spend a life time inside the bellies of the Abbadon instead of being here”. I didn’t understand what she was trying to say, so I asked her to come to plain words, but she kept on talking strange things, I don’t know whether that was how the dying people talk or it was just the spirit from the underworld talking through her.
     She asked me to bring her a glass of drinking water, I remembered how my grandma died, she also asked my mother to bring her a glass of drinking water and before my mother reached outside, she died. So I was worried, I told her not to drink water at that time, but she insisted that she was very thirsty, I gave her a glass of juice to quench her thirst but she refused. I came to realize that she really wanted to die. So I brought her a glass of drinking water, thank goodness there was a bottle of drinking water inside the room, but when I gave her the glass of water, she drank it and she was still alive. That was disappointing, but it gave me a glass of joy.
     After drinking the water, she started again flowing, this time like a twenty four seven radio station; “my feet are not mine, but they seem to be part and parcel of my body. They give me company wherever I go, but they are not good friends of mine because they don’t listen to me anymore. They go wherever they like even when I am asleep. I hate them, but they are my wheels, I cannot move without them; but why do they move without me? In the eyes of the blind, day and night are just the same”.
     This time she totally confused me, I decided to call the doctor, but there was no one around except two cleaners who were wiping the floor with a mop, they told me that all the doctors went to Romata Beach Resort; they said that their fellow colleague was having a birthday party, so almost all the staff members were invited and that the only people who remained there to care for the patients and visitors were: the cleaners, the gatemen, the keeper of the chapel of rest, the matron of the psychiatric ward and two nursing students who were completing their internship at that very day.
     I felt very bad, I wanted to become a doctor all of a sudden but that was not my profession, and someone cannot become a doctor over night. I asked the cleaners, where are those nursing students? My wife is dying in there and those so called doctors are enjoying the party? God must hear this. The cleaners busted into laughter, and then they pointed the door with the mop because their rotten mouths were trembling with fun. I rushed inside the office and found those two nursing students kissing themselves; they were watching pornography on their smart phones. When they came to their senses, they wanted to bribe me with their sodomy, I told them about my wife but that didn’t seem to be their problem. They continued with their professionalism, I left them there. I went back to the ward and found my wife the way she was before. She was still talking her Blaa! Blaa! Are you alright? I asked, but her reply was very irrelevant, she continued with her speech… “My heart is smelting, smelting in love. There is someone, someone very special, someone very sweet, and this delicious human being is very busy sweetening my heart with plenty of love. I am very happy, very happy because my heart is rejoicing, rejoicing in love. But it’s from this same sweet love that I am about to fetch my tears, same sweet love than I am about to find the root of my pain and sorrow.
     This sweet love that is now souring my heart with scarcity of love and plenty of lovelessness; in the first place, my precious tears were involuntarily showering my golden face down to my diamond legs at a very smooth speed and relaxed. Resting on my lover’s chest, crying like a royal baby, a royal baby on the throne of majesty, crying because of wealth and honor, shading tears of glory, what an emotional memory? How romantic? But now I am shading blue tears, my nose is bleeding green blood, I am sweating pink sweat and my wounds are showering my rotten spirit with purple pus. There is nothing red in me, nothing natural and nothing original; everything I see is fake, counterfeit and artificial.
     This love, this sovereign preference of the soul, my soul preferred someone, but I came to find out that my soul was blind, asleep and drunk. So I made a grave mistake by falling in love, falling in love with someone floating, floating in love, in love with a life jacket. Now I am alone and lonely, sick, tired and starving, starving not from food but love. My heart is broken, broken into pieces, and every second this brutal bulldozer is still breaking another piece of my broken heart into further tiny broken pieces. Now I will not only lose my heart, I will also lose my soul and bury my own existence forever; but I can’t allow that to happen, I can’t. The way in is always the way out, there are only four reasons that lead someone to make a move; pain, fear, joy and hope. But fear is desperate. I am moving out of this stinging love because of pain and fear, I will move into love again because of joy and hope. The four reasons are like success and problems. The visible presence of one is an invisible absence of another.
     If there is something big you can see, know that there is something much bigger that you cannot see because those bigger things are invisible. It’s just like being alive and forgetting the fact that there is death and that it awaits you. One must know that there is a difference between a teacher teaching love and a student learning love; but all in all, experience is the best teacher, and a teacher is the best student if experience has taught him or her well. But fortune favors the daring in case a student is well experienced than a teacher. Then a teacher who is in authority won’t give up because authority favors those in authorities; but then, this is just an alcoholic wisdom which only suits the drunken audience.
     The only thing impossible in this world is to lose what you don’t have. You cannot lose what is not yours. Not everything at hand is ours. Talking of love, such a thing only exist in books and in stories, stories which can only be narrated to mad people and in books which can only be read by the dead. I heard some mad men saying that true love never die, then a moderate fool replied; but it grows old and eventually it dies. Then a wise man passing by concluded the argument; love is a living thing, it’s conceived inside the heart, it grows, it’s delivered, it lives no younger but older, it gets sick, tired, hungry and just like any other living thing on Earth, it dies. And when love is dead, surely it’s dead.
     So love is just love, if it’s there, it’s there; and if it’s not there, it’s not there and there is no way it can be there even if you force it to be there. If love is there, truly it will manifest itself. But if there is no even a smell of it, then there is no way it can be called love. Love is never one sided. Love is always complete. To be complete, love demands two hearts to join forces. The heart of a man is with a half slice of love, the other half is inside a woman’s heart. To make them one, a man and a woman must become one. Love is not a war, so no need of carrying weapons as if you are going for the battle.
     Love is free will, if someone truly loves you, no worry and no hurry. Surely it will be your portion but don’t sit down there waiting for it. Go out there and grab it. But don’t use force, remember; love is free will. Don’t force someone to love you and don’t push someone who loves you. But if they are making up jams in your heart, you can push all of them out and declare your freedom. Don’t burden your heart with so many hearts. Just one heart is enough for you. The more you accumulate hearts, the more you kill yourself because at the end everyone will demand you. So some will take your head, others will divide your balls, some will take your intestines, some will split your heart and others will end up with only finger nails.
     Truth is not constant, so do love. It’s changing over time. I came to realize that loving someone so much invites calamity and disrespect. Sometimes we love people who has got no knowledge about love and who are not ready even to learn how to love back. We love them, but what do we get in return? Lies, pain, sorrow, tears, betrayal, insults, disrespect and worst of all; silence. Sometimes you can tell someone; I love you, but what do they say back? “Thank you” and they just end it there as if it’s the Devil speaking through them. Why don’t they just say “I love you too” even if they don’t? Do you know how it pains to be rejected? It’s just like being in love with the dead or getting married to someone from another planet, Pluto perhaps. No even hopes of seeing each other even in dreams.
     We either do things for pleasure or reward, there is no third cause. We don’t only love for pleasure; we also love for reward, but what kind of pleasure and reward? Positive, we don’t love to lose, we love to gain. If you’re in love and you don’t see any gain, renew that love. If it’s not dead already, then it must be dying. Sometimes people just blame love for no reason, love is an investment. There’s no way you can open a shop, an empty shop and wait for customers; unless those customers are coming there to buy you, the owner of the shop. It’s just like watching an empty Compact Disk or reading a plain paper; you can’t get anything. People must learn how to enrich their love, they must invest heavily and positively so that in the end, they will yield more.
     Love is not like any other business; it’s very fragile, very emotional, very sentimental, very delicate, very serious and very futuristic to the extent that it must be handled with great care and skills. You mess up once; you destroy everything including the past, the present and the future. You cannot marry a pig and expect a handsome prince out of it. It’s just like getting married to a fish and expects to spend your honeymoon on the land. That will only be possible in the dreamland or in the scientific fiction where everything is possible. You cannot go to bed poor and wake up rich unless you’re a witch. Nothing happens without a reason and the reason is the mother of all. Even an idea is an outcome of reasoning and I will love again for a reason. Love is like a bus, if you don’t drive it, someone else will; but watch out, don’t allow someone to eat on your behalf and expect to get full and satisfied. Don’t allow someone to love for you, do it yourself. Love is responsibility; I will be very responsible for this new love I am looking for. I will be very punctual and truly I will fulfill my obligations without delay. But how do I get this new love? Shall I parade myself before all human kind and tell them that I am looking for love? But if that is what it takes, then I am ready for it.
     I am on a mission, a mission for love; but how do I start? Alright! As far as love is an art, am going to shape it on my own. I’m not looking for an anopheles, I am neither looking for an anopheline relationship nor some mosquitonic union like that of a master mainland and a slave island. What I am looking for is a total freedom, a complete liberty and a full independence of the mind, body and spirit. Comrade Thomas Sankara of the then Upper Volta believed that “He who feeds you, controls you”, a belief that consolidated his oriental philosophies and later turned to be the thorn in his own flesh when some demons conquered his temple in 1987. I’m not looking for a wealthy lover because if money is my problem, I could just marry a bank. But this doesn’t mean I’m looking for a poor lover, but at least someone very smart, productive, talented, and conscious. Someone whose heart accommodates none but only mine, I need that kind of a person. I am not looking for someone who will ignore my feelings, someone who will kill my talents and someone who will waste my time. I am not looking for someone who will take away my freedom of worship because faith is more private than…thaaaaa…”
     She was mute, silence, speechless and never finished her last sentence. I thought she fell asleep because of talking so many words without taking a break and now she got tired. I never knew she was dead already. As I was waiting for her to complete her sentence, she never did. I remained there with my right ear over her dead lips but I couldn’t hear anything. Her sweet lips started changing and her face turned bizarre. At that time I came to realize that death is very ugly and scary. I fainted only to wake up the next morning, as the shades of darkness were departing through the walls, all the other patients in that ward were also dead but their relatives took them that very moment before doctors arrived.
     Around 10:00 A.M two doctors and three nursing officers arrived, everything in the hospital was messed up; the psychopaths broke the doors of their ward and destroyed almost everything. They killed their matron and at that time they were heading to the women’s ward. But that was not my business because how can all the staff desert such an important social institution and head out for the birthday party?
     That day I came to the conclusion that the spirit of death is never a friend and it’s not someone to bargain or reconcile with. It didn’t even hold it for her to tell me where she kept her ATM Card and the password. Such a greedy death, she lectured me the whole night listening to her underworld experiences only to die in the morning without even brushing her teeth. Who will kiss her in the afterlife? Will the preacher say that God loved her so much than I do? Death is not fair at all. In this life, it doesn’t matter what you possess, whether you own Taj Mahal, Great Pyramid of Giza, Colosseum, Chichen Itza, Machu Pichu, Christ the Redeemer, Petra, Great wall of China or even the Eiffel Tower; death awaits. Sometimes it’s up to you whether you belong to the highly expensive Freemasonry, the Bavarian Illuminati, the Yale’s Skull and Bones or the 1966’s Church of Satan; death has got no versions. You either live for nothing or die for something. To some people you can be a comrade; to others, a piece of meat for laboratory experiment. You’re the shaper of your own destiny, you can shape it the way you like, but there are some forces beyond our control, these are more powerful than us. Have you heard of the omnipresent, omniscient and omnipotent super being?
     An old man realized that all this time he was talking to himself, children were sleeping, he never mind, to him, it was much better to tell a story to a frozen audience than lecturing philosophers with the sleeping mind. He enjoyed much talking even though no one was listening, because he believed that this world is full of souls, if those inside the bodies cannot listen, then the bodiless does bravely. To him, he was always not alone, whenever he altered a word; he believed that there is always someone somewhere listening. That’s why you could find him lecturing empty halls, going to church in the middle of the night, or when he felt tired; you could find him reading plain papers or watching empty CDs.
     He died several times but when people tried to bury him, he was seen busy serving people with food and showing the guests where to stay, sometimes even leading them to the room where the deceased used to live. Most of the time people ran and deserted the casket at the cemetery when they discovered that he was always helping them carry his own coffin. He could die even twice or thrice a year, and sometimes all pregnant women in town could give birth to him at the same time. Sometime you could find him everywhere at the same time, that’s why they called him omnipresent superhuman; sometimes an old man, sometimes a little boy, sometimes an African, sometimes European.
     He was too talkative, unlike his brothers; he was always narrating stories to his great grand children, some of whom were believed to be him.  He enjoyed much eating boiled sweet potatoes and condensed milk, but he loved women too, because he enjoyed sucking their breasts and kissing their thighs. Sometimes you could find him talking nonsense, but he was very clever in employing figures of speech. For a woman ignorant of missionary love, he was always the best choice, but he never loved anyone; except potatoes and condensed milk. That’s him, an old man.

Posts : 49
Join date : 2017-03-07
Age : 32
Location : Mwanza
Job/hobbies Job/hobbies : Teacher, Musician, Novelist

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