(A Poet's Notebook)



Posts : 92
Join date : 2017-03-07
Age : 32
Location : Mwanza
Job/hobbies Job/hobbies : Teacher, Musician, Novelist


Post by Admin on Tue Jan 30, 2018 8:32 am


He was in his mid nineties, wizened and shaken. A man of his words, the last of his kind, well known for his distinguished career, an expert in the art of mind reading and astronautics, famous for his cherish and love for young children; during his energetic adolescence, he made a successful space tour, for his father was a distinguished astronaut of his time; they travelled great deal merely to discover and explore.
     He enjoyed much sharing his vast experience of the past with the youngest generation, this character did not please his age mates, especially King Rhombus, and he (the king) always wanted to hear stories about heavens, stars and planets in the outer space. King Rhombus was a good reader of the Bible; he could read from the book of Genesis to Revelation over night, only to wake up dizzy the next day. He summoned all the witches and wizards of the land to tell him about the outer space, and none of them satisfied his majesty. Who could tell what happened to the magicians?
     Just the other day, an old man sat and summoned his great-great grandchildren; he wanted to tell them a story about the land of the Nullifidians, the legend of the house of broken hearts. His Highness swallowed his pride and paid a visit, he also wanted to hear the thrilling story, but he met a frozen welcoming from an old man. So, he left the compounds and forced his way to a neighboring mansion. He sat there, all alone in the pavilion, a king of his own kingdom, a kingdom of one man. He really wanted to hear the story, so he sat there in isolation, he didn’t mind the decemberish weather and the giant mosquitoes. He just wanted to hear…
     Children kept calm and listened, the old man yawned; he yawned again, this time with dry tears pouring out, moisturizing the contours on his cheeks. Before him was a tray of boiled sweet potatoes and a jug of condensed milk waiting for his Orangutan’s belly, the old man could not stop the inevitable, he was salivating, a sweeter bite to start the meal. 


About four hundred nautical miles off the Coast of Ghost Island; far removed from the eyes of the blind sun, live the ruins of an ancient city state, a once sophisticated mega city in the whole terrestrial globe, the land where rivers ran honey, milk and sweety things of some sort. A prosperous history of a gigantic cultivation, the myth of the book city where men took forever to die, the land of the well celebrated lives, the home of the transmigrants, the finders of the lost constitution, a beautiful mountainous country, a better place every human being dreamt of visiting at least once in a life time. Beautiful beaches, continental peaks, delicious cuisine, charming hospitality and economic superiority of the territory made it the most envied republic in the whole firmament; the material one, and the other one, affirmative!
     The main entrance gate to the city was a book, and no mortal man dared to pass through it alive, only the souls entered the gate and so no living man ever entered and came back. But life in there was the future of the living world outside the book. It was the land of magic at the time of magic, where wizards and witches of the first order ruled for life. One day inside the book was almost a century in the living world; a child from the book was as old as a dead man deceased several millennia ago. Nopinia it was called, it bordered Romata from the South, and Yellow Dove Island from the North West. It was wiped off the world map during the reign of the Psychopaths, and this story is the only living map to the gate and I must tell you this; the city is in our hearts and as long as we live, even after we have gone to ashes and dusts, the city will always be there because out of it, everything came into existence. Words falling on deaf ears…
     Children were sleeping already and an old man never realized that he was just talking to himself; the man himself was talking without knowing which words were coming out of his little mouth full of potatoes and milk. The tray was almost empty, only a single potato was remaining, very little one, from a very close watch, some jiggers were coming out of it; an old man grabbed it and swallowed it without chewing because it was very little, he enjoyed the belching after consuming the delicious fatty jiggers. Very sleepy he was... very sleepy. The rain gods smiled the whole night, but he never bothered, he continued although no one was listening. He was talking to the sleeping children, just like lecturing an empty hall, words falling on deaf ears... During weekends and yearends; the place was flooded with tourists and whores from all the galaxies, and during holidays and summer vacations students from different universities and high schools over crowded the restaurants and the hotels.
     During the night, the spirits from the land of the dead rebelled against their fate and forced themselves to enjoy the portion of the living; the greedy spirits, all the time, they thought of their already married wives on earth, the wives that bothered no more about them. Because a woman cherishes her husband most when still she can feel the touch of his muscular arms over her rhombus waist; extremely busy chopping off the rough edges of the lozenge pouch, at his back, the wallet is coercively drained by the nimble-fingered sweetheart, wicked love!
     For sure, it was the most beautiful destination in the world. Ministry of Tourism and Natural Heritage made it one of the wonders of the world; the devil himself enjoyed parting there, but most of the time causing trouble, so he was casted out, sometimes wishing to go back to heaven and beg for mercy, sometimes wishing to commit suicide, confusion!
     One day, one evening, in fact, one very stupid evening, a very stupid thought popped in my brain and I told my stupid friends to hire a stupid boat to take us there; it was the most stupidest idea of all time, the wizened stupidity that resulted into the enlightenment of the dimming light. The great illumination; they agreed and we scheduled to sail the next day. Because it was a bit far, we telephoned the boatman to know how long the voyage will take. The marine guy answered two days; we departed to our homes and prepared for the take off, the great sail.
     I was so happy and delighted to sail across the great Nopinian Sea; it was going to be my maiden voyage; so I took all the stuffs needed for the voyage including the binoculars, juices, goggles, bites, a diary and a life jacket. My mother reminded me to take a bible but I forgot to take it because I was not used to read it most of the time. I preferred adventure novels to sacred scriptures, big sin!
     At the dawn we meet near the roundabout just opposite the Justice Road Children’s Park, we hired a taxi and the motor man drove off up to Pink Shadow Harbour. Around 6:30 A.M we left the Blue Olympus Cape and sailed eastward. It was the longest safari in my life; we reached our destination on the fifth of August, 1949. At the time, the Chinese Communist Revolution was almost on its peak. The imperialist nations already suffered from what they nicknamed WWI and WWII and yet, it was during the consolidation of the cold war (1947-1991) and freezing it was a refrigerated warfare. Docking at the shores of the Great Port Anipi, we took a rest and spent our night at the Ruingate Heritage Resort, popularly known as RHR-07.
     We met other students from our college there, they arrived two days earlier than us and they were sickened by the Falciparum malaria. They died the same night, worries and fear penetrated into our iron hearts but we didn’t succumb to the threat. We took it easy and simple, during the morning we buried them just outside the resort because there was no other way. The boatman was nowhere to be seen and the attendants there at the resort suddenly disappeared.
     We packed our luggage and wandered across the Island, after a couple of paces, I turned around only to find that even the resort was all fabrications. What I saw was a huge stone with the words written “HE WHO WISHES TO LIVE MUST DIE FOR THE SAKE OF LIFE”.
---What the hell? Screamed Olympia, “Help Help! Help!” she cried bitterly.
---O My God! What happened? Asked Gilbert
---I don’t know, I can’t feel my legs, I’m dying... where’s Tony?
---He was here, I saw him just now.
---Call him for me please, am dying guys...
Gilbert remained speechless for a couple of minutes; he fell down at last, screaming like an old caterpillar, his mouth full of foam and blood. He was dying for sure, poor Gilbert, he died in great pain.
     I remained standing there with my arms akimbo, not knowing what to do; I cried and grieved bitterly, the island was cool and quiet. The sound of the waves ashore, water ducks and drakes shadowed the surface of the Eastern Nopinian Sea; the sharks and the dolphins beautified and terrified the atmosphere. The photogenic view and the landmarks attracted even the spirits. Jackals and the snakes inhabited the caves and the bushes; at that particular moment, I felt the fire burning inside my little heart. Thunderbolt roared across the skies of the island and the dust from the ruins poured the ground like millet; owls and falcons made it scarier, I remembered what my mother told me, she insisted to take the word of God with me, but I neglected. I wandered here and there looking for Tony, looking for any human being, but I saw nothing. The shades of darkness were penetrating sliver by sliver from the eastern horizon, as the sun went down; the giant mosquitoes came out and sucked the blood of all the living things including themselves.
     I sat down near the Coconut tree and wept helplessly, poor me! I cried. Is this really happening? I asked, “Are you talking to me?” The voice from the other side chanted interrogatively as that gigantic flaming star was hurrying to hide its big eye at the back of the mountain. “Who are you?” I asked majestically hoping to hear the voice of Tony or another human being on the island; “Welcome to my planet little human, do not worry about your friends, they’re having their dinner right now, you may join them if you wish”. Where are they? Follow the sound of my voice, when you hear the drums and the horns, stop, take off your clothes and bow down, close your eyes and you will be there; for how long? I asked, soon enough, he responded.
     One, two, three... eight, nine, ten... I counted the seconds and the minutes as I was waiting for the drum beats. At a far distance I heard the shouts in a foreign language, the drums and the shakers accompanied with the horns and the flutes. I bowed down and found myself amidst the band of the tribesmen giant like the hybrid gods; dancing traditional songs vigorously, at the same time roasting humanoid animals. Some were eating trees and stones, others were reciting an old native poem, and the lyrics terrified my soul.
     They tied my limbs with nylon ropes and hanged me like a bush meat to be roasted, another one came and untied me, he ordered to put on my clothes; I said “Thank you Jesus” which Jesus are you thanking huh? He asked tyrannically, then he changed the ropes with those of metal wire and he said, “Let now Jesus descend from the heaven and save you, pathetic!” Do we look like humans? He asked and I came to the conclusion that they really wanted me to die. “You must die dressed so that you won’t shame yourself in the afterlife, there are billions of honorable people there and perhaps, your in-laws you know?”
     I screamed bitterly like a child, but nobody cared, and I told them that I’m still a student, I was suppose to go for a PhD in Canada by next year, and so I must live, but nobody really cared. As I was still standing upright tied, waiting to be roasted, the trees and the earth beneath my feet trembled, the lightning and thunderbolt roared across the sky, the stones begun to fall from the mountain, followed by an earthquake.
     As I was waiting to see the end of that scene, I saw the dead coming out of their graves, walking like zombies and vampires. On my left hand side there was a huge tombstone, there was a man standing on top of it, his face was full of scars and holes, he was smiling at me, gazing at me as if he wanted to say “long time no see”. The tribesmen ran away and disappeared to nowhere; I was trembling like a man driving a tractor, shaking like a generator or a man suffering from the Parkinson’s disease. I almost died of hypertension and a sudden cardiac arrest. My underwear was already wet, and in a twinkling of an eye the man was walking towards me, atop his head were the two horns emitting dark smoke and sparks, huge like a dinosaur, his moustache like an ancient Indian Banyan.
     The skeleton in a Masonic suit, he was after my blood and I could not allow such a thing to happen. I ran away only to find myself inside his dirty coat of many colors, inside that coat, I met the man who introduced himself as the late president of the Federal Republic of Nopinia, the name of that ancient city state which former glory and civilization rest underneath the ruins and the sea.
---What are you doing in my country? He asked, was killing me not enough to quench your thirst for power? He asked again. I felt the fire burning inside my little heart, I felt dizzy as I was walking towards the road of unconsciousness.
---What are you talking about? I asked, I killed who, when, where, how and for what?
---Stop pretending you idiot, don’t think me a blind. You killed your own friend, and here you are, you demon incarnate! Come out now... stop pretending to be an innocent student. I thought of deceiving him that I am dead but there was no such a time to pretend, thank goodness I was able to faint.
---Do not faint little rabbit, the time to avenge my death has come; you pretended to be the usher, and those guys used your little brain to deceive you that I am the one who can bring good fortune when am out of existence and you believed them. They told you that mankind want to live forever, but you failed to reason how can a mortal man walk out of his mortal body? So you must consider this day to have dawned as your last. Let me don’t waste much time and just kill you. You little devils suppose to die by my hand; that is the only way I can quench my thirst. Come on!
---You cannot kill me; (I spoke in turn as a defensive mechanism).
---You are dead, so go back to your grave where you belong; I am commanding you to go to hell and suffer longer in Jesus name, Amen!
---Bravo! Bravo! Bravo! “Clapping his hands”, you are very clever; so you know even how to summon the immortals huh? Hey Mr. Nicholas W.W.W (War, Wine & Women), the victory of the people, so you are commanding me to go to hell, and where is the hell anyway? Have you been there before? Come here you little chameleon, die! (He grabbed my neck like a monster and killed me as simple as cutting a warm butter).
     Inside that coat there was a book, an old book with old yellow pages; the book was entitled “The House of Broken Hearts”. When I peeped on it, I saw something like a door, it opened and a hand came out of it and grabbed me. I found myself inside the book and found life terrifying in there. After a couple of seconds, I was at the heart of Romata, outside a golden mansion with an electrified fencing system. At the gate there was a huge sign board reading “CITY ENGINEERS” I decided to join them. But I was not having any physical form, nobody saw me. So I hunted for the human body to dwell in. I stood at the town square, roundabouts and clock towers finding a clean body.
     At last there was a school boy riding a bicycle towards a bookshop and I was impressed with his spirit and tender body. He was going to buy the book, the same book that he was dwelling on. I transmigrated into him calmly and the boy took me home and several years passed, as the boy grew, I grew up too. When the boy met with his first love, to me she was my four hundredth girlfriend. Ha ha haaa! The children laughed, they just woke up after hearing the figure that grandpa mentioned. Go back to your dreams? Grandpa insisted, but children never wanted to sleep again, they just hated the beginning, they just wanted a happy ending. With their eyes wide open, they asked an old man; what was the name of your first girlfriend? Tell us Grandpa, tell us please!
---Now listen my grandchildren, the name of the first girl was Anita Martin, the second was Sophia Herman Tungi and the third was Senorita (Maria Rodriguez) from Mexico.
---Ha ha haaa! (Children could not stop laughing).
---Anything funny?
---Everything is funny.
     So saying, an old man continued…”The boy was very hot, charming and handsome…” He wanted to date all the girls in town and I became part and parcel of his life. He even changed his name “Ferdinand” and answered mine; “Nicholas” and he became immortal, and yet he lived a mortal life.
---WOW! Children applauded, the old man continued...
---Now go back to sleep, it’s almost morning.
---We want the dawn of the new day to find us awake grandpa, after all, it’s already another day, another dawn. We won’t eat or drink till the end of the story, yeah!
---Now that you will be fasting, prepare to die the next morning, because five days are remaining to finish the story, and normally at the end of the story, one man must die. It’s either the narrator or the listener.
---Just tell us the story grandpa; after all we are all going to die one day, it’s better to die knowing, than to live a very long life ignorant of the meaning of life. We want to die knowing, just tell us grandpa... So an old man continued… in his mind, the rhythm of the 1840’s hit single “So Different” by the late “Jo Africa” made him rock like a real Rastaman… 


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.
          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 designer of your own destiny, you can design 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.

    Current date/time is Thu Apr 26, 2018 8:09 pm