Waiting on a Death Bed

roseson a grave

The day that she was discovered dead, the weather took a whole new turn. The sun used the thin cirrus clouds as a veil to hide her face and the winds became unpredictable. They blew in every direction, making loud wailing noises that consoled the mourning relatives. In the evening, the clouds were darker in sorrow and hang low. Later, they would drop down large drops of rain, their tears. The police had said it was an unfortunate rape case, but they were wrong. Had they been able to examine her brain or soul, they would have found that she died happy.

Before the previous sunset, she had stood there, stationary as the wooden cross on his grave. If you looked carefully, you could see his name written all over her face, but this time with many question marks at the end. She sat on the cross, her feet penetrating the deep soft earth. But she did not look down, and see that the flowers of on the grave had dried. She could not have blamed herself for not watering them, for she did not believe that he was buried there. She couldn’t believe he was dead. She lifted her teary eyes and looked unto the horizon. She could see two of him, and she wasn’t sure which was him, but she was sure he was there. Maybe this time he had brought an angel for her, as a flower.

It was on February 14th, that date that friends had talked about guys giving girls flowers, and she knew he wouldn’t fail. The sun was setting in on the cemetery, casting long shadows of dried up tree stumps and wooden crosses. Hadn’t she called him son of the sun? Were his lips not hotter than burning hydrogen? She knew that he would prefer this hour because he loved solicitude. No one would see them apart from the sun on its way to sleep. And they were not supposed to see him, for they had said he was dead and buried. They had called her mad for waiting on him. They had also blamed him for her poor results in the final secondary exams. But they were wrong. She knew she had passed, even though with lower marks than any other time. He would also say that she had passed, that she was sure. The moon too would enjoy their sight when it came around, and the stars would dance in joy for the son and daughter of the heavenly bodies.

The sun bid her goodbye and went into his sleeping nest.

She waited, not counting her breaths or feeling them, and not removing her eyes from the two distant objects that were now nearing her. Not removing her eyes from him and his flowers. Her flowers.

At last he came.

He was twice her size, what her friends called tall, dark and muscular. Beards grew around his mouth like scattered grass on a mole hole. His teeth scattered in his jaws, were soil brown and gleamed in the dark like the eyes of a cat. He walked with a powerful gait, for his work demanded so. He would walk down this abandoned path every day, looking for those who had trespassed his hours and paths. What he could run away with he took, and what he could enjoy he did. Rarely did his culprit survive, for there was no need to. The cemetery belonged to the dead. For he was also dead. Or at least his inside was. The sight of a human at this hour brought blood flowing to his canines, and his veins became full.

But this one was a funny human. She waited for him with open arms. Was she like him? Another him? Or more dangerous than him? He stopped and looked. She was beautiful. The beauty that often made his groins twirl and almost break free. But this time it scared him, and he turned cold in his pants, dead inside. Her composure was that of a corpse in a coffin, but he could see that she was breathing. And then she started singing. Her voice brought his feet closer, involuntarily. Her words floated in the air. He was afraid that her sweet voice would awaken the dead and destroy their privacy. He could hear her words telling him to stop being scared for she had been waiting long for him. He had heard of heaven, but he never thought it would come to him. And not while he was alive.

She could see him. He had grown bigger for her, and had also decorated his teeth with jewels in order to please him. It had been long since they last met. The moustache confirmed so. Oh, how long had pestered him to obtain gold ridden teeth. Oh, how long had she rubbed his chin, gently whispering in his ear that she wished he had a beard. Now she was sorry for making him go through so much. He had gone to the effort of growing a beard and obtaining gold ridden teeth. All for her. He had obtained more than flowers. She knew that he still loved her. He had proved it more than enough times. And now he had done it again. She couldn’t wait to hold him, caress his fully grown beard and kiss his gold ridden teeth. She continued singing for him.

She now stood from the cross and straightened her dress. She thrust her arms forward, and closed her eyes, waiting to feel his massive chest on her now fully grown bosom. He was now only a few meters away, his walk getting more confident. She had no need to look at his face, she was sure it was him. She would hold her in her massive arms and carry her away with him, to the clouds where they would build a home and stay together ever happily forever just like in the Cinderella stories. She continued singing for him, her voice as beautiful as Cinderella’s overtaking the rhythm of the crickets nearby.

At last he was here.

She could feel him breathing down his forehead. His breath came like a cold shower in a hot Mombasa afternoon, and her hair danced in its bliss. She threw her hands around his abdomen, and felt his abs one by one. She couldn’t remember him having abs, apart from the pot belly that she hated, but again, he had done it for her. And she would take her time to enjoy whatever he had presented. She would never be ungrateful to him again, or try to correct him. She would just enjoy him the way he was, and be satisfied. She passed her hands along the firmness on his chest and continued to feel the tough muscles around his neck. She pulled his head towards her and passed her tongue around his rough cracked lips. He was fire.

But he was not used to being kissed passionately. Life had been cruel to him and punched him severally, hard. And he was used to punching it back, hard, by punishing the people who lived in it. Heaven had been wrong for inviting him to its beauty, a sinner. He could not leave the life he was used to and succumb to new pleasures. That would be hell.

He felt the soft muscles of her neck, easily breakable with his rough strong hand. Her breasts were supple and ripe, piercing his chest in their fullness. He passed a rough nail over a nipple, and heard her scream in pleasure. She was annoying. She was supposed to scream in pain, just like all the rest. He would punish her for that. He lifted her dress.

She could not resist him. She wished that his fingers would be softer around her neck, but she would never correct him again. She had done it enough times and killed him with it. This was the day that he was supposed to take away her virginity, drain her innocent blood with her male hardness. Hadn’t she promised him that she would only have sex with him after she finished school? He had tried to insist, but she vehemently refused. She could not refuse again. She had to keep her promise. He had kept his promise and presented himself.

He reached for her pants and slid them down, then travelled again up her legs, lifting her knee length dress with him. He was surprised to find her wet and waiting for him. He was surprised to get no resistance. She was different, and that annoyed him more. Who was she to mock his powers? He removed his penis and pushed in.

She knew that the first time would be painful, maybe not this painful, but how was she to know. She would not stop him despite the pain. She would clench her teeth and go through it all. She would burn for him.

He pushed harder and more vigorously, and with each push she mourned pleasurably and loudly. She was annoying. Her noises would attract people from the distant villages, or awaken the dead, and they would not be safe. At last the noises stopped, but he was the one who was moaning now. He felt her warmth draw liquid from his body and they fell on the ground together, exhausted. He felt for her tender neck and twisted. Who was she to make him cum?

She was still smiling by the time she died.

Are you Afraid of the Dark?

She faced the dark forest with a new look of fear in her eyes. The forest had once been lighted by his smile, but now she lay there alone. She was still in the same position that she had pushed his hands away with a loud “No!”.
He stood a few metres away, hidden by a large bush. He watched keenly to see what she would do next. He knew his intentions might be considered ill by many, but he could justify them in any court of law. How could she expect him to give no more than light cuddles after he used all his money taking her for a hike in the Ngong hills? He had hoped that the encroaching darkness would soften her stand. It, therefore, surprised him to find that she had remained firm and pushed his hands away when he tried to roll the orange skirt that covered her chocolate thighs.
He had walked away, after his pleas to even hold her hand and protect her from the cold had bounced back straight onto his face. She did not even turn to watch him go. She had continued lying on the ground with her legs spread out and hands folded across her bosom.
“She must be one brave girl.” He thought to himself.
How wrong he was. Inside she shook, and wished that she had succumbed to the heat that had now turned into a cold fear. She remembered the dark stories she had heard of Ngong forest. She heard the loud voice of J.M Kariuki pleading for the landless, before taking his last breath, and she was not sure whether it was real or imagined. She thought of following him and pleading with him not to leave her alone, but her pride could not permit her. The branches of the tall trees surrounding her danced vigorously in the evening wind mocking her meagre form that lay helplessly below. She reached for her phone and scrolled for numbers that she could call for help. Numbers of brothers who would ask a million questions on what she was doing alone in the middle of Ngong forest at seven pm, and friendzoned Eddies who would only be glad to laugh at her predicament.
All of them scared her.
She would have been more scared, however, had she seen one of the trees turn into a muscular man carrying a machete in his hands and start to approach her. By the time she saw him, it was too late to let out a scream or move. She lay there, still, waiting for whatever the future beheld. She would now have to lose that which she had denied him, and perhaps more.
Mwangi held his breath behind the bush, and started planning his moves. He could not claim to love her, at least not on the first date. Still he could not allow her to be raped. He had heard of women haunted by rape for the rest of their lives. Pained women who denied their husbands conjugal rights or played dead fish in bed. Others resulted to taking away their lives. It was this reason that he had restrained himself from raping her and walked away. A big femur bone was the only weapon that he could find in the forest. He could not allow Zipporah to go through such horror.
The first blow hit the man on the right kidney, just below the ribcage. He screamed and turned, clutching the hurt side with his hands, his face twisted in agony. The next blow was heavier and crushed into his temple splitting the bone into two. His bulk weight dropped with a heavy thud, dead.
Zipporah could not understand what was going on around her. She had willingly opened her legs into a big V-shape, and removed her pants in order to avoid any physical confrontation with her assaulter. The last thing she saw was him fumbling with his belt and dropping his trousers. She had closed her eyes and waited for the worst. She had clenched her teeth, determined not to scream. But it seemed she had, though she could not understand why her mouth had remained shut. It seemed that the man had gotten angry with her for screaming and was now punishing her, for she had heard the loud sounds of ‘hit’, ‘crack’ and a final ‘thud’. She could not understand why she did not feel the pain or the impact.
“You are safe Zipporah.”
She recognized his voice at once despite having been with him for only a few hours. She could feel him besides her, in the same position that he had lain before she had pushed him away. She felt his hand go around her waist, and this time she did not resist. She was ready to give him anything, if only as a fraction of gratitude for saving her. But he did not have any further plans. He only wished to protect her from the biting cold and the evil forest darkness forever. Soon, their tired muscles gave into sleep, and they snored deep into the night, their arms around each other.
She woke up first, and found the full moon high up in the cloudless sky, the stars shooting around it in a heavenly dance. Startled, she felt her surroundings in a wild haze; her hands, eyes and mind working together to recollect the earlier happenings.
Then she saw him. Her bundle of joy slept peacefully on the ground beside her. She admired his dark face against the glowing moonlight and caressed his neck with her long bony fingers. Slowly, she bent down and kissed his lips. He responded by throwing his hands around her. They rolled together several times, immune to the sticks, pebbles and thorns that grazed their skins. They only stopped after hitting a tree stump, and by then their hands were busy removing the remaining shreds of clothes. Their minds blank, their souls dictated their movements and led the bodies into each other. The rhythm of their rocking bodies played many genres of music; sometimes fast rock and at other times slow classical music. At other times his thumping would correspond to the bass drums in Congolese music, and she would writhe her hips on the ground, dancing to coastal Taarabu. Whichever music their bodies played, it was all sweet. They would reach the climax and converge in one huge crescendo, outpour themselves into one another before getting thirsty immediately and starting the music all over again. Theirs was a song sung by two interlocking mouths, a rhythm that even the universe danced to. Finally, their bodies exploded into an eternal tune that echoed throughout the entire Ngong forest. Their bodies collapsed on to the ground, their souls merging into one.
An hour later, they led each other home, arm in arm, unafraid of the dark.
Are you afraid of the dark

What’s Up Love?

What’s up love?

It’s been long since I last saw you

You are rare yet everywhere

I guess it depends on the definition you take

Wait, how do we define you?

 

Some say that when they hold hands,

They find you there.

But then still I don’t understand

Why we sideline gentlemen who hold hands

And call them gay

What’s up love?

 

Don’t run away yet, I have another question for you

Are you the one who joins the lips of strangers who find beauty in a stolen kiss?

But then where do you hide when a gunman rapes a young child and tears his bliss?

Do I assume you are the one who kills?

 

Are you black, white, grey or even green?

Or do I assume that you move beneath, colourless and can’t be seen?

Because these colours discriminate, hate

Some can’t even mix

Maybe you can only be felt

But so are others too; anger, lust

How do I distinguish you from these two?

 

Other’s say you are hidden beneath religious books

In the name of God, takes many names and forms

Yet I fail to understand

Why sideline others and call them atheist, heathens, pagans

And why in heaven’s name do the Gods never seem to agree

On simple things like how many days it took to create the earth

Why do they always make humans fight, which one I’m I supposed to believe

What’s up love?

 

 

I can feel you at the bottom of my heart

And that you are there for me to share

But where the hell are you in the rest of the world?

 

I would have loved to love you

But do I even know you?

Maybe we are in a relationship

But I can only say it’s complicated.

The Forgotten Road

forgotten road 2

There is a road that loses you
From where you stand
Carries with it the smell of your feet
To distant lands

Transmits the beat of your heart
To angels beyond your sight
And the laughter in your eyes
To burn the hydrogen in the sun
forgotten road
Curve the face of your palm
And feel the air that pinches
Blow kisses with your lips
And fill the universe with bliss