The Worst Recedes

 the ever overwhelmingly inviting 

pop sound,

of beer being beheaded, 

the taming sip, a slow 

slide towards uninhibited night 

unhibited pockets, 

daring damsels swing their posterior 

endowments

the deejay cranks up the volume, 

The Little Dog Is Dead

I whistled at the little dog,

It gave me a listlessly solemn gaze, 

as if I was disturbing a sacred exercise, 

as it tried to borrow a few sorrow-filled hours, 

by lapping water by the cowshed, 

the curved back, poking ribs betrayed 

 it's eloquent emaciation, 

It left it's pain for my speculation, 

bore it with a bravery only dogs know how 

I knew it wouldn't make it 

and I wouldn't interfere with it's fate, 

for the dog had yet to have a name, 

even if it had, I am not too sentimental about dying dogs 

I am not attached to them 

With time, someone will stumble upon its bones,

for a dog chooses solitude for a dignified death 

And tonight, it's loud absence will shroud the compound 

She Was So Happy

 

She was so happy, 

so happy in a bothersome way, 

because in her happiness, 

I saw a reflection of my own 

cruel unhappiness, 

a pathetic kind the repels other's 

joy,

and I, 

being no robber, 

and she, neither a lover of mine, 

I did not have any means, 

except to crawl back into my 

unhappy crib, 

to be alone,

by myself, 

unbothering, 

and not bothered

as if allergic to

happiness

The Little Champ

 I envy the way he falls asleep

A half a minute and he's gone 

As if sleep had waited too long 

To accompany him till dawn 

I envy that he sleeps at exact times

Perhaps a little early but never late 

And every day of the week, he does 

Sometimes supper can even wait 

I envy that he does not brood at all

About the day's trivialities at sunset 

All he cares about is his sweet slumber 

Unlike I, by midnight, rest isn't earned yet

I toss and turn for hours every night,

I pour libation, offer blood sacrifice 

To the unyielding sadistic sleep

Only glimpsed at a minute to sunrise

Dangerous Games

I didn't know much about Nimuno, except the fact that I hated him for no particular reason. You can hate someone for no reason, as if they are reincarnations of the most despicable vermin. Neither science nor religion can explain this.

But as I think of it now, I doubt whether it was actually hatred that fueled that short-lived relationship two decades ago. But then, somehow, as a kid, there are certain things you can passionately dislike without evidence as to why you should. Even remotely. And it's okay.

 This happened even though I hadn't as much as a glance at him. As such, I wouldn't pick him out in an identification parade, even if he was the only one. He didn't have any remarkable features as per my recollections. I didn't know his name. I nicknamed him Nimuno.

Nimuno found himself in the unfortunate annals of my hatred, albeit without reason or even ever knowing it. I knew very little about his background, other than the whispered rumour that his mother was involved in a polyandrous marriage. Although I was young, it was an unheard of novelty. It would have made no difference, then, if Nimuno's mother had been an axe murderer.

I became acquainted with Nimuno once when he had to visit a brick maker hired by our neighbor. The brick maker was one of the rumoured husbands. Nimuno had accompanied his mother together with a bunch of his siblings all of whom had similar heights, probably as a result of a biological impediment. It's hard to speculate. 

One fine day, with the sun shining beautifully, I saw Nimuno tracing his way towards the river. Instantly, like an animal which has spotted a prey, I swiftly swung into action by hurling precision guided projectiles in the form of insults. He responded in kind and the verbal fight quickly escalated into a rock throwing contest. Each of us was the target of the other.

I don't remember how it ended but we went at each other for a while before we gave up. However, I believe the dangerous game ended when of us got hit in the leg. Whatever the case, Nimuno and I didn't abandon that delightful game out of our own volition. 

Thinking of dangerous games, there were a few we played at Chebaon primary school. One involved small rocks. All one had to do was pick a reasonably sized rock and dare with the word 'Urwei.' Whoever fancied the dare would run a considerable distance and scream 'Area.' It was then up to the darer's accuracy. There were no fatal incidences but the game was banned when girls reported it at school. This wasn't a game you would try within the school's precincts.

There was another game which I remember vividly because I lost a shoe. At the time nothing was fun if it did not involve inflicting each other pain. The sadists among us invented a game or copied it from other sadists in other schools where we kicked each other for fun. We were right, because most games involve inflicting each other pain. Like all contact sports.The rules were simple, no shoes (most of us didn't have shoes) and standing up was a sign of invitation to get kicked. If one fancied a one on one combat, it was more than welcome. 

During one break time, I brought the game to a premature end. I had removed my shoes as per rules and sat down waiting for the right time to pounce on someone standing. It would take time for someone to switch off and forget that he was part of a game where standing made one a legitimate target. I lurked behind some boy who forgot who temporarily forgot. I pounced and gave a kick that sent him sprawling to the ground. He writhed on the ground, contorting himself and grimacing with extreme pain. We gathered around him thinking that he was dying. 

He didn't. 

The bell rung and we rushed to class. I could not find one of my shoes. There being no time, I went without one. 

We never played that game ever again. Nobody snitched. Even the boy who hid my shoe was well covered. I never knew him. I would find my shoe a few days later by a fluke. We got so engrossed in a game that we never heard the bell. 

We got to class and the teacher ordered each one of us to fetch their own canes. I fetched mine right where my shoe lay perfectly hidden from view. Whoever hid it made no special effort to ensure I never recovered that shoe. I was too excited that I forgot the punishment that awaited us. We received our strokes, each with his own came lest we spread whatever disease each cane carried.

Memory of Darkness

 I stood still on edge of the beloved abyss,

And watched in my custom listless gaze

As the memory of you staggered away,

as if willing me to rescue it,

but bit by bit, it got devoured 

Oh. The eternally ravenous darkness 

Everything merged with darkness 

I watch the birthed darkness, with futility 

Knowing I am watching your memory 

I carry with me that darkness 

With time, I too, will become that darkness

A Casual Stroll

 It was a casual stroll on pliant evening, 

She walked beside me, her face plastered with a solemn smile,

Hand in hand, listening to little jiggly whispers

Our grand hearts emitted 

She gazed, seeing possibly a quiet future

Where she longed for nothing except 

this cute evening strolls where everything dissipated

And rolled into endless, timeless treasures