Life, Love, Literature.

Joseph looked in the mirror that morning and hated the sight of himself. He was nothing like he used to be in his high school days. Joseph Kweke, the fine boy. The one the girls loved and the guys wanted to be. He looked like a really faded copy of himself. He had fought with the world and was bbeaten.His black hair had turned yellow with dirt and his eyes were bloodshot. His palms, palms that had held the bottoms of the prettiest girls, now carried bags of cement and sand. The world was rough. As he bit open a satchet of water and thoroughly washed his face that morning, he decided he wouldn't have his bath. What was the point in bathing and dressing up in the morning and looking like a filthy rag after work? He would not waste his time bathing. With a chewing stick in his mouth and a dirty torn paper bag in his hand, he set off for work. The company he worked for did not pay him well. He called it a company despite the fact that it was an uncompleted bungalow because he had d...

Isn't it funny how we got this far? Doesn't it amaze you how we found ourselves in a world of our own, Alone in a world of shadows?  How did you do it? How did you penetrate my heart's iron guard? How did you make me dance to the tune of your heart's beat? I miss you. I guess when I walked away I left my heart in your pockets. I watch my world slowly become a large ball of emptiness.. a darkness that walked in when your love left.  I miss you. How can I ever stop to say it? How could I ever act like cutting you wasn't hurting me? My rainbows have faded, my heart sits in gloom. How could I ever act like I was okay ?

You felt the wind in your hair as you walked to school that morning. It was the last day of school, a Revelation and a Genesis. Your white shirt was not tucked into your perfectly ironed trousers and your sleeves were folded. This was what it felt like... graduation. You also did not have the school's green and white tie on your neck as you walked into the school gates. It was the first time in all your years at John Patrick's memorial school, that you looked so casual.  You felt the wind in your hair again and dug your slender fingers through it. You were the only boy in the school with long hair, and although the teachers all voted against making you the senior prefect because of it, your perfect grades had earned you the spot.. and something else, someone else. Your hair had never been cut since birth... because though your mother was now of blessed memory, you still remembered how often she told you of her experience at the hospital where you were born. The Angel of t...

The ride to the village was a quiet one. Maami did not sing hymns like she did every other year and Blessing was out of gossip. It was different on this year, and I wondered if it was because we were not going home to grandma as usual or because Paapi had refused to come with us. Perhaps it was both. As Maami drove down the quiet road, a part of me still prayed for a miracle. A part of me still hoped to see Granny sitting on her favorite chair, waiting to welcome us with her dancing. I knew it was impossible, because she had died on my birthday this year and I had cried on her grave, but I mustered a little hope, a little faith. Didn't my pastor say it was enough? When we saw the heap of sand that covered my mamaa's dead body outside the family house, I felt a sudden lump on my throat and I wanted to leave. To leave this house that smelled of Granny and this compound that carried all our memories. But I stood, and while my heart bled, I refused to shed a tear.. because I h...