The Coffin Maker

He minds his business at hand.
Polishing his caskets,
And with such tender care.
He steps back,
Just to check his handiwork.

How he wishes,
To have more customers.
Then his business would thrive.
A macabre business.
Where death is a source of livelihood.

He looks at me keenly,
As I cross the street.
I can read his mind clearly from here.
He is wondering,
When shall I lie down… dead.
Another customer.

I make quick steps away from him
And his evil gaze.
It is too early,
To be reminded of the certain date with destiny.
I refuse to be another customer today…

© Ayoub Mzee Mzima 2013


When The Phones Died.

The phones remained strangely quiet
None ringed
The phones stubbornly refused to talk
They were not ringing anymore
It was eerie
The silence pervaded everywhere
The phones had died
It was the silence of the tombs
And it was all quietness
The phones didn’t want to talk
It was unnerving
So unlikely
Since when a day would go without a call?
Questions callously defied answers
Answers that were never there
Loneliness offered company as days turned into weeks and weeks into months and months turned into despair
Doubts invaded
Nothing was sure anymore
Each day was some dreary existence
With no hope in sight
When the phones had died

One day the phones rung
They rung and rung and they have never stopped ringing since then
Hope flowed again
And happiness pervaded the sphere
But it would be very hard
To forget the day
When the phones had died……..

© Copyright 2012 Ayoub Mzee