New Year, Same Old Stuff

 All and sundry heralded the new year, 

Some with pomp and glamor, 

some with a dark sense of humor, 

and some slept on the bathroom floor, 

passed out. 

some waited with bated breaths, 

watching the clock slowly tick towards twelve, 

some sung and prayed feverishly in church 

The pastor decreed and declared, 

that it would be year of unmatched blessing, 

some prayed for riches, 

some for love, 

some for security (mental, financial, emotional) 

But for most, the new year is now as old as Methuselah, 

four days into it but it feels no different, 

Just the same old stuff, but a different year

Back to default, back to old habits

The Withered Flower

It had quite elaborate dreams of its own, 

to bloom and shower the world wit its 

iridescent colours, 

it knew that even in moment of inconsolable 

gloom, 

its beauty would provide a warmth, 

a warmth only felt by the eye or the nose 

because it never thought of the day it would wither, 

die, 

and get trampled by ungrateful and marauding souls 

souls that have never contemplated their own ends, 

But the flower smiled anyway, 

Because that was the climax of its life

It had lived a life, often chocked by water, 

and chemicals that did a whole lot of good, 

they sustained it, the chemicals and the water, 

until the day it was uncremoniously plucked 

and the flower knew without being told 

that the end had come - it could smell it, 

it was nigh 

Wisdom

 the wisdom giveth

got taketh away, 

by the puff, one puff 

it rose like the smoke, 

blown away from the nose- 

nose thrills, you may guess

but that does not make any difference 

so long as there is life, 

there are dreams to be pursued 

and where dreams are, 

misery is stalking close by

Remain A Mystery

 do not assail me with stories of the yore, 

of whom you were before, 

I know you might think I might be interested 

I guess I might be, but I'll take instead, 

instead, I find the present you alluring, 

a you so perfect in certain dark crevices, 

don't they say people are angels before you know them? 

I like you to maintain a mystery around you, 

unassailable and distant, 

never ever spill your secrets, 

I do not trust myself to keep them, 

My ears have born a lot of secret stories, 

Do not entrust me with another burden, 

It is not heavy but I like not to know any secret 

Keep your mysteries closely guarded 

because if you don't I will stop liking you 

Dating A Retard

Coyotito Ruto wakes up startled as if suddenly roused from the grips of a death-like slumber. He opens his eyes slowly as if he is out of coma and unsure whether he was back to the real world or he is in the other world where dead loved ones are presumed to go. Or be. He sees familiar things. He can even touch them. And he reaches for the very first thing everyone these days reaches when they wake up – his phone. There are seventeen missed calls. All from one person. Coyotito knows that once a caller reaches the two-digit zone, it becomes an emergency – an emergency where the caller’s head needs to be examined.

It becomes clear to Coyotito that one does not need an empirical research to figure out that love is the principal cause of retardation in people. They can do crazy things. They can do unexplainably ridiculous things such as getting married Backman (n.d.) or leaving seventeen missed calls. Coyotito has always had an inkling that Glenda’s brain is ‘not full.’ He does not remember saying anything remarkably special to her for her to fall head over heels for him in such a devastating way that she completely lost her faculties.

Coyotito traces his steps before he fell asleep. It has been barely two hours. And how he slept like he felt asleep. And in that period of being blissfully unaware of his existence, someone managed to call him seventeen times. That number exceeds by a scale of 4.7 the limit where extreme or irrevocable retardation begins.

According to a research done by the University of Buruwein (motto: ndo manake), each number of missed calls denotes the mental state of an individual. The maximum allowable limit of missed calls left by a single individual should be one or less. The research took into consideration the simple truth that there is a 90% probability that someone is purposefully ignoring your phone call. Pretty much everyone is  a retard, or has been a retard at some point in their lives, presumably before they lost their phones. Coyotito knows without a shred of doubt that some people are quite challenged at being retards for the sole reason that there is no manual just like everything else.

Speaking of manuals, Coyotito (or Coyo as his girlfriend loves to call him when she is angry) would have loved Glenda to have a manual. She can be mad at Coyotito for paying the bills or not depending the mood. She can be mad at him for not having money and not want him to leave for work at the same time. He has the manual for this – leave her. But he dares not. He just wants a manual to cope with her retardation. And that’s not too much to ask. 

Most resolute and unshakeable vows are rarely made at the altar. The sacred ones are the ones said in secret or never uttered at all. Coyo knows that. Glenda knows that. For that matter, they know that they will get stuck in their chaos, revel in the labyrinthine maze of their lives, laugh and love hard and probably threaten each other’s lives when it is absolutely necessary. And one ceases to exist, the remaining one will figure out how to get on with life probably in a maximum-security prison.

Lonesome Street Lamp

There, by the lonesome street lamp,

you embraced my chaos,

and disappeared into the darkness,

In that moment[, our bodies exchanged

a certain kind of strange warmth,

a warmth that lingered a tad longer,

and in that brief moment, loneliness dissipated

It felt as if we exchanged precious parts of ourselves,

Heartbeats, maybe – it was something we couldn’t live without

I left with the lamp,

Lighting the darkest parts of me,

and the labyrinthine maze,

I saw your face in every meander

And your smile lightened the burden of my chaos

For once, I was me, without blemish

I was me without embellishing

Life with anodyne expectations

That lovers are often prone to

I was me without having to live

Up to the impossible romantic ideals,

And then the rollercoaster began,

I boarded a train hurtling down the pleasant path of

destruction

 It did not matter because we were together in the blissful wander

A wander that led nowhere although it feel our hearts with gladness

Or atleast my own heart – I am not sure if it did that to you

But, then, in being lost with you,

I was getting lost alone

I’ll Not Forget You

I’ll not forget you,

For, once upon a time,

I was lost in a blissful wander upon this world

Then you came along,

And turned my life into a movie,

Whose soundtrack was an unfamiliar song

On some days, it sounded like a broken record

 

I’ll not forget you

How about the thousand missed calls you left

Wasn’t that a sign of craziness?

How about your uninhibited loudmouth?

Who can forget that?

Words gushed out of your mouth

Like a broken sewer

It stunk right up to state house

And since there is nothing royal about certain types of stench,

It clings to me, I am unable to rub it off

I’ll not forget you