Always Seasonal

Always Seasonal

 

The year was 012 BC

The Sun, so bright and the Cloud, dark and gloomy existed, each in its own niche.

Both were well-situated till they got to know each other.

Sun had never seen something so dull. He had lived a basic life for quite some time so he thought a little adventure would be something. He’d take time to search for the silver lining and probably get that euphoric feeling he’d always heard about; the ‘Cloud Nine’.

To Cloud, Sun had an extraordinary brilliance, one that radiated through her chest, awakening her heart to a cascade of endless smiles; a kind of joy she had not experienced, ever.

They would bump into each other on fine days, season after season.

 

All was well till during one fateful season, they aroused each other to a fine passion of discord; an eclipse happened.

Sun realized that he was bored. “It never lasts forever,” he said out loud. After all those seasons, it had dawned on him that the silver lining, cloud nine and whatnot were just fairy tales.

After several attempts, Cloud resigned. She accepted the highest fate. The hearty smiles were gone. She now tears, seasonally. This, the creatures in the other world call rain, a blessing.

IN SCHEOL

These Chinese walls around me are keeping me stagnant yet I need to move.

Nothing materializes; everything withers in the bud.

The people and things I care about, I am losing them.

Being lost feels better than knowing where I am.

Apathy! It’ll be the end of me.

 

You would think that the world does not care about the man who disappears; they instead think that you do not care.

There is Mugisha; I have known him for almost a decade now.

I was never there when he needed me most; neither was I there for myself then.

The time I felt my soul leave my body and I almost let go without raising a fist.

I have a heart, a conscience too.

I plead not guilty, for reasons of insanity.

Now I can’t go home; it is no longer there and this is very disheartening.

You would drink too if you were me.

 

I see vultures; they are everywhere around me; in my sleep too.

They want to take me; to finish me up.

My soul has a chronic insomnia; makes me feel like a dead man in the world of the living.

Whatever demon I am wrestling with, it is still there.

 

Frenmity

Almost always, being a friend in need is a sure way to enmity.

It is a panic attack waiting to happen.

Humanity! It is more of a weakness than a great strength.

Trust is very easily broken.

When people give themselves away, it is by little things.

Always not caring to care,

Such is the selfishness of men!

 

The moment of truth, let’s face it;

If one jumps over the edge,

One is bound to land somewhere.

You know what happens when you are nice?

Nothing.

 

You don’t want a soul today, it would stand in your road.

What do you do with beautiful things whose time has passed?

At times the most extreme measures have to be justified.

When cooperation fails, you move on to hostility.

 

Hold My Hand

Like an empty vessel, I am being blown by the wind.

I am flying blinder than usual

Almost everything is fogged.

I need to get my bearings before I crush.

 

I am at the edge, still holding on tight.

“I shall not be moved,” I keep telling myself.

Still, I feel like I am fighting a battle I have already lost.

For in trying to take away the demons, the angels go too.

It now feels safer not to care about anything outside myself.

 

That which is within me is more like a living weapon.

i risk a mass self-destruction.

The darkness is filling my shallow sense of hopelessness;

Making me scream in my sleep.

All i need is to walk alongside You.

Take my hand, will You?

From A Once Prodigal Daughter

I wanted so much to be a ‘free bird’

To go places and explore the world.

I wanted so much to feel independent and mature.

You did not stop me.

 

I rolled the dice I had to.

I had it all; waifs and strays.

I saw the world unmasking

It’s true self was frightening

All I ever got was nothing.

 

In the end, I met my Waterloo.

You alone in this whole world helped me rise up.

You had more faith in me than

A saint has in Christ.

You were my only escape route.

So mother, here I come.

Everyone For Themselves

Everyone For Themselves

Our earth is just like a child

Who has grown up without parents

Having no one to guide her;

A deviant.

 

Truth is some have attempted to help her

Most have simply tried to use her.

Humans who have been given the task to lovingly steer the world,

Instead plunder her with no consideration

Other than their immediate needs.

Everybody for themselves.

 

Meanwhile,

They give little thought for their own children

Who will inherit their lack of love.

So they abuse her,

Use her with little consideration.

 

And when she cannot take it no more,

When she shudders,

Or blows her breath,

They are offended.

And raise their fist at God.

 

The way we misuse God!

It is like he has nothing else to do but attend to our wishes.

Our own selfish wishes.

Just Away, Not Gone

Just Away, Not Gone

I was never good enough to you.

I chose to leave, to let you free

Thinking it a better option

As I felt that you went through a lot

For my own sake.

 

Now I feel battered, tormented

Alone.

With a heartbreak  brought by my demons

That constantly kept me from being

The woman that I wanted you to see.

 

I am now at war with my own self.

Everything is taken but I still love you.

Like a recurrent fever,

There is always a risk of sickness.

 

And if the next episode of sickness comes and never passes,

My death will be on my hands.

Even then I keep hoping that you are

Just away, not gone.

 

 

That Thing Called ‘Marital Rape’

That Thing Called ‘Marital Rape’

‘It’ does not exist according to about 70% of my male colleagues.They believe that there is nothing like rape in marriage; that it is one’s obligation to fulfill their partner’s sexual needs whenever.

 Naturally, humans have mood swings. There are those times when a person; your partner, however much they love you, will not afford or for that matter be ready for coitus.We all have an element of ‘savage instincts’ but what makes us human is the ability to have self-control to a greater extent.

 As a medic, I always take rounds in the labor suites.Many a times, I find very bitter women.

One lady, a mother of ten, had complications during the birth of her eleventh child. She pleaded with the acting surgeon to do a tubal ligation; saying that the husband did not care about anything but his own satisfaction.

Another lady, a mother of four, I found in the Anti-Retroviral Therapy (ART) clinic, sobbing. In her eyes, I could read something beyond bitterness. Anguish! Her husband, an adulterous man, on proving that he was infected with HIV, forced her into coitus, claiming that he would not face death alone.

 Women, being the physically weaker sex are always the victims. My heart bleeds for such ladies; many of whom swore that they would last till death did them part. Moreover these are cases that will not always feature in courts of law for some reasons; both known and unknown.

The question stands; who do you turn to when the one that you chose over the rest turns into a monster?

The Sins Of The Father

The Sins Of the Father

Ismael was my childhood friend;

The boy who ‘had it all’.

He was the kind with ‘balls made of steel.’

He was the shield for the small children as

He would get at the bullies with everything he got.

 

Ten years later, he was experiencing an eclipse in his life.

His once aluminium tongue turned to lead.

His knotty hair boasted little acquaintance with the comb.

Ismael had a self-love deficit.

 

A biblical leper would have had a better chance

Of being accepted by friends and family.

He said it was because of the ‘sins of the father’.

Ismael is now a child of complex family situations,

Carrying burdens that weigh more than his bones.

 

“There is nothing good to turn to like the beginning,” he says.

The beginning has only answers, no dilemmas, no restrictions.

Still we both know that;

Like all good things, the beginning is ephemeral.

What Is Love?

What is Love?

Is it the hypocritical alms-giving done with duty written large on every extended finger?

Is it the possessiveness of a man of his wife?

Is it the kissing and sexing between partners?

Is it that time when animal instincts run riot?

Is it that special treatment you get from another person?

If they treat you different, it doesn’t mean that you are.

Every one is different, every one gets treated different.

It is more of an illusion.

Looking for what we want to be there and not what is there.

Whatever you run to eventually runs away from you.

‘Love’ is an alibi for lying, a prolonging of a dying death

Till the universe settles its score.

In the end, the injury time sets in.

We ultimately leave behind that which we stuck to along the way:

The “love” that never found us.