Live, Breathe, Exist

A lot of us exist without living.

Living is to fully enjoy the processes we create or experience.

To drink a cup of coffee while inhaling the strong, earthy fragrance of the coffee. To feel the warmth of the drink at each layer as it goes through the insides of the human body.

To feel the sharp coldness of the ocean, to taste the saltiness of the air of the ocean, to smell the cleanliness or the mix of pungent smells whilst wary of the crescending waves pulling you into her cold embrace and stealing you off into her deep recess.

To kiss, feel the warmth of the mouth, get lost in the emotions being conveyed and not think of the organ being enveloped in the fleshy orifice splattered with particles of food, saliva and plaque.

To dance like one possessed, not mindful of lustful, watchful eyes, nor wary of rock hard or very soft parts nor pungent smells invading personal space.

To be one with nature, to be light as the leaves falling to the ground from the trees, to preside over the jungle with the lions, to soar the sky with the eagles, to create honey combs with the bees, to build and guard your home like the beavers.

To live, breathe and truly exist.

 

Bubble

I am the bubble, the one that floats seamlessly through the sky, the one that brings joy to both the young and the old, dances and wiggles its way through the elements but has no life.

I am the bubble in the sun, the bubble that is originated by an unknown source, the one that shows a kaleidoscope of colours as rays of sunlight hits it, the one that burst and is lost forever with no provocation.
I am the bubble, seemingly floating effortlessly through sky but the journeys against the elements are hidden to the ordinary eyes.
I am the bubble, spreading joy but receiving none till I fizzle out.
I am the bubble, molded to shape by the one who holds the bubble wand.

Make me big, beautiful and as long lasting as possible – this I plead.

I miss missing you

I miss missing you…

The truthful you

The fearless you

The confident you

The carefree you

The adventurous you

The you no one could put down

The you no one could make feel inadequate, incompetent, unworthy

The you who knew when to hop on the horse and get off the sinking boat

The you who saw the end from the beginning 

The you who cared about yourself 

The you who was the shizniz, who didn’t dish out shit nor accept shit

I miss the regal, tall, shoulder-high you

The you whose shoulder wasn’t just high to hide the bullshit they were afraid the world would see…

No! 

The one whose shoulders were naturally high because they knew shit and believed they were shit

“Who then is this sorry ass weakling?” I ask!

The one who worries unnecessarily, who can’t look in the mirror because they can’t recognise themselves

The one who whispers…

Adverts their eyes… 

Walks with sloppy shoulders and drags their feet…

Sigh…

Get thee away this mouse who mumbles its name because it doesn’t  want to be remembered…

I miss missing you… 

I need to find my way back to you.

I need to be remembered 

Signed 

The one that runs away from missing you.

My father

A man of few words

Gentle as the cool evening breeze

Steady as a rock

Humble

Hardworking

Peaceful

Generous

Solution provider 

Asks nothing of no one

Troubles no one

Friend to all
Quiet

Loyal

Man of the people
Always looking out for people

DIY master
Covets not
Ever ready helper
Provider
A cool cat

FATHER

It’s father’s day, drop a few words that describes your father in the comment section below.

My mirror

It was a dainty looking thing with a gold plated rim. The rim fanned out in uneven strokes which looked like a peacock with it wings spread out; this spread-out wings just looked more like the edges of the Iron-throne
It was a rare piece from a rare soul. The soul who had gifted this gift was encased in the body of a god – the god of beauty.

You might find it weird for me to describe a man as beautiful but he was. His skin was as dark and shiny as a well polished shoe.

His smile brightened up every room he entered. I always told him his smile was what differentiated him from Roman soldiers; he was self-aware, beautiful to behold, sculptured, a diplomat with a steady head.

Someone I wanted and knew could lead my army any day, any time.

He was also well travelled. He had sailed the Caribbean sea, skied in the Alps, horse-ridden through the deserts of Africa and gone to a lot of places i had trouble finding on a map.

It was on one of his many trips to Europe that he acquired this reflective piece for me.

He said it spoke my name the first time he saw it.

“What silliness and blasphemy” were the first words out of my mouth as my hands swatted his biceps.

The irony of my dainty hands swatting at his well toned biceps wasn’t lost on me.

“No sweet; it did. The mirror is you and you are the mirror.”

“How my love? How is this possible?” I asked?

“The mirror shows your class, it shows your strength, it shows how sharp your brain and tongue are” he replied.

“I look at it and I see how wise I was to have sought after your heart.”

At this point I lightly touch him and laugh. “You give me so much joy my lord.”

“The gold plated rim which encases it reminds me of how much you envelope me with your love.”

“You see why I said it spoke your name to me?”

With joy, gladness and love, I gladly collected my gift from my lord, immediately commissioned for a mantle to be made and placed on the wall opposite our bed with my mirror placed on it.

Every time I wake up when my lord isn’t around, the first thing I see is my mirror.

It shows me what he sees when he looks at me and it motivates me to be better for us.

It tells me to wake up with a smile on my face, it tells me to scrutinize myself and readjust myself as I get off our bed and place my feet on the Arabian carpet.

It cements and renews our love and vows to each other.

It assures me and gives me peace.

DEATH

Death always raises questions.

Some common questions include; How did they die? How much resources were expended before the death and how much more would be expended in burying the deceased? Where do the loved ones of the deceased go from here?

When a person dies, the first thing that comes to my mind is what did the person achieve? I think of what I perceive to be the persons’ greatest achievement, I wonder if my assessment tallies with what the deceased perceived to be their greatest achievement. I question what percentage of their personal goals they actually achieved before departing planet earth?

After achievements, my thoughts turn to the family, especially, if the deceased had a nuclear family; their partner / spouse, their children… Would there be a property tussle? Are some family members relieved that they are dead? Does the deceased have a parent(s) who are still alive? Is there a girl/boyfriend in the picture (what emotions are going through their minds)? Who would miss the deceased the most? How long does it take the people closest to the deceased to move on from the death and how do they adjust to the new normal imposed by the passing of a loved one?

Thirdly, I think of the burial ceremony… Who shows the strength to organise the ceremony? Was it someone unexpected? Who foots the funeral bills? Are the traditional rites, if any, tasking? Do the people who troop in en masse for the funeral ceremony actually love the deceased or are they there to satisfy other less than savory intentions?

The two final thoughts I have regarding death are these: did the deceased person suffer much pain before their death and what was the last thing on their mind as they took their last breath?

I feel like suffering before dying has to be the cruelest way to depart this realm. It seems  much better to conserve resources, save your loved ones pain and above all, save the deceased the misery. The only advantage I see of going through, say a health challenge before dying is that an opportunity to put your house in order is presented to the deceased.

Pray tell – what is the first thought that pops into your head when you hear someone is dead?

SHE – ME (part II)

People always say fake it till you make it right? So faking a former version of myself shouldn’t be hard right? Noooo… wrong! Maybe if I had the right clothes, had some money for a taxi, I would be fine or maybe if I get a whiff of some white powder, any white powder… Nooo… thoughts like these lead to a fall off this present wagon… Not like this wagon is better but at least it isn’t expensive. The only thing that would have been priceless is my pride but seeing Josh weeks ago just seemed to drain the little I had held on to for so long.

The lady called pride had done nothing for me, she had instead shown me that I couldn’t live up to her high standards, I could not even afford to lick her feet not to talk of sit at her feet.

Pride is so elegant, she always has her shoulders held up high. I was always the one with too loud a laughter, walking with her hands in her pocket. The only reason pride sometimes knew my name was because I possessed an attractive beauty, I was a diamond in the rough but now I am the dirt that the diamond was buried deep within.

All that is insignificant now, all I can think about is what I would wear to go see Josh. The guy has stepped up so much, I am thinking I should steal something to wear to go see him.

Thank goodness for the broken pipe in the area, at least I can clean up a little.

Stealing… the last time I stole was to pay off the debt I owed gbigbona for selling me some of that stuff I used to sniff and this was 8 months ago.

Who would have thought the tables would have turned so much that I was scrutinizing myself with a microscope before going to see Josh? I, Shonda AKA Shine…

 

Allahu  akbar , the call to prayer from the mosque wakes me out of my reverie, it’s been two weeks since I ran into Josh, he was going to save me, he had to save me, for this I am  glad and for the first time since forever I have hope.