Romantic Love

A sweet malady.
A sick melody.
That defies medication.
A moronic malaise,
That is too stubborn.
Some sweet surrender.
Some regrets.
Blindness does not even begin,
To describe this blissful ignorance.
Castles in the air,
Abounds in this part of the world.
Shimmering mirages in a love’s desert, is what a stupid heart gets all the time.
Make believe, cheats an unfortunate sentiment again.
Same story, in a different time.
Same lame love, out to tame same lame heart.
When darkness is gone,
And the wine is done,
And the music is dead,
Then reality reveals herself.
The prince is gone.
The princess is gone.
Only lonely memories lingers on,
To be scrolled on to some sad memoir.
Ah. Romantic love.

© Ayoub Mzee 2012

Fatal Bliss

Dark light.
A solitary figure.
Desolate.
Anxious.
Bending.
Desparate.
For a fix.
The first inhale.
Of toxic pot.
Settles the mind.
Peace comes.
In pieces.
A slight relaxation.
Not yet though.
Another stick.
A smile appears on her face.
A faint smile.
Toms toms.
Beats in her head.
What a strange beat.
Another stick.
Of grass.
Quickly smoked.
For a quick fix.
For a quick dose of ethereal joy.
Not yet there.
But better now.
Slightly happier.
So she thinks.
Its a lethal bliss.

Still craving.
For a higher high.
Suddenly.
A syringe.
Laced with pure poison.
Appears.
To pierce a delicate skin.
For a momentarily happinness.
The kick is enermous.
Suddenly she is alive.
Dirty and unkept.
Smelling.
In a sweet stupor.
A mad bliss.
Ectasy.
Gives her a sure climax.
Then she collapses.
If she wakes up.
It will be a miracle.
Heroin.
Makes her a heroine.
Cocaine.
Makes her cocky.
So sad.
So unfortunate.
Such a fatal bliss.

© Ayoub Mzee 2012

I Am From The Management

Humongous
air conditioned office,
Huge mahogany desk,
Expensive leather seats,
To massage, suage and sooth my huge ego,
Secretaries at my beck and call,
To order coffee and other refreshments for my business associates as we cook crooked deals…
A bank of phones on one side,
To call cronies and girlfriends.
Gigantic LCD TV screens,
To follow on the latest Barclays Premier League scores.
Swanky.
Luxurious.
Proper.
Perfect.

I am from the management.

My day starts with reading the gossip columns in The Star and The Citizen. Not satied, I scour for cheap political gossips in Kenyan Daily Post and Jackal News sites. Next, I check mails from pals. Next, I summon my juniors for a dress down over imagined misconduct then I’m off for an early lunch at the the exclusive sports club in a leafy suburban area in the company’s Benz, all paid for and maintained by the management. Won’t be coming back to the office. I have a round of golf to catch in the afternoon with fellow executive cronies.
My day is done.
I have earned my pay.
Life is good.
After all, the chairman of this cash cow is my uncle….

I am from the management.

© 2012 Ayoub Mzee

Good Night.

As the night settles down,
As  darkness claims its dues,
As sleep finds you,
As you rest your tired body,
May I wish you some good night?

May you find peace in this night.
May rest find your tired bones.
May rest know you intimately tonight.
May good dreams serenade you.
It is my good night.

And when morning finds you,
And when dawn has run away,
And when the sun kisses your face,
And when sweet slumber gives you up,
You will be in excellent health.
You will be new.
Your soul shall be refreshed.
Your heart shall be glad.
Peace be.
Be peace.
Bless.
Good Night.

© 2012 Ayoub Mzee

Carrying Life

She moves slowly.
Carefully rather.
She is heavy.
Laden with a beautiful life.
In her womb she carries hopes.
A life inside of her stirs up.
A nascent life.
She is pregnant.
She is a mother.
Carrying life.

A life exists.
A life spans.
A life is nurtured.
A life is protected.
Deep in her.
Her womb holds together this life.
She is a woman.
Carrying life.

© 2012 Ayoub Mzee

A Gift

We pray for different things and in different ways.
We ask various favours from our dear good Lord.
Most times our wishes are granted.
But very few of us plead with our deity to bestow us with the right person.
The right companion.
The perfect gift.
A sweet gift.

To be blessed with the right soul mate is the greatest gift that God can give someone second from the gift of life itself.
A person who is able to accept and cherish another bereft of endless conditions and ultimatums is a joy to be behold.
A person who is able to appreciate the weaknesses and shortcomings of another and right them instead of blaming is an angel sent your way. A person that is capable of believing in your vision is the right gift for you for many partners discourage and laugh at each other’s dreams.
This person is a gift.
A true gift.

You will know that you are in the company of a good person by the sheer comfort and tranquility that this person ushers in her or his presence.
There are no borders.
There are no walls to hide behind. The silence is agreable.
There are no facades.
Thoughts become one.
Hearts beats in one familiar rhythm.
Life is breathed in a single breath.
Bodies fuse and become one entity.
There is no nakedness and no shame.
There is only the truth.
Your truth.
And you know that you are safe.
In a safe place.
In a private place.
This is a love beyond measure.
Words can never truly explain.
This mystic occurrence.
I know this perfect gift exists.
A rare gift.

© 2012 Ayoub Mzee

I Have Learnt.

I have learnt
That life is fragile.
That life is temporary.
That tomorrow is just a promise.
That yesterday is a spent cash.
That today is my only time.
That I should never take anything for granted.
That What be can be done today should be done today.
That I should be grateful for the gift of life.
That nothing is permanent in this life.
This I have learnt.
I have learnt well.

© 2012 Ayoub Mzee