This Thing

I don’t know what it is,
But I will know what it is,
When I see it…

I don’t know what it is,
But I will understand it,
When I hear what it is…

I don’t know what it is,
But I will realize it,
When I feel it…

I don’t know what it is,
But I will appreciate it,
When I taste it…

Ah. this thing.

It is out there,
Silently waiting,
Softly watching every move,
This thing is out there,
You can feel the strong vibes…

Ah. This thing.

What could it be?
Could it be love?
Could it be some fortune?
Some luck?
Some fate?
It could be anything.
This thing…

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Going Down….

  • Last night,
    I dropped by,
    At the Tavern,
    At the Shebeen,
    At the place,
    The source of night life,
    The other life,
    The dark life.
    I sat in a dark corner,
    Sipping away at the ethereal existence,
    All alone,
    And watched life pass by,
    But under the recessed lights,
    Life never passed by,
    Instead, it danced nearby
    Shaking it’s well endowed “Strongholds” with abandon.
    Then out of the thick smoky air,
    He materialized,
    A tall lanky fellow,
    Holding his cigarette,
    Askew in his mocking dry lips,
    And without a care in the world.
    His shaggy hair never helped things.
    He was a pale of his former self.
    He looked wasted.
    He looked tired.
    Dear brother.
    Dear friend.
    A dear brother from the past.
    Then he spotted I,
    And he came over,
    Tripping over in the process
    And breaking my beer bottles and glass with excitement.
    I never minded.
    He was a long lost brother.
    But going down.
    And going down real bad.
    He gave a bear hug.
    And I sat him down.
    He was frail,
    From personal burdens.
    Life had not been kind to him.
    Time had been cruel to him.
    He had gone down.
    Over copious flow of drinks,
    And his evil smelling cigarettes,
    He told me his story.
    A life of misfortune after misfortune.
    No love.
    No work.
    No family.
    No hope.
    What a way to go down
    For a dear brother….
    I looked him straight in the eye,
    And told him that he were a good man, and that sometimes things didn’t have to make sense to be understood or be good,
    That everything happens for a reason and in a season,
    And that the most important thing is not to give up but to hold in there until something gives.
    It hurts to see a brother going down.And we spoke,
    And spoke,
    Till the wee hours of the morning.
    Laughing at the vagaries of life.
    Taunting the unfeeling gods.
    Lamenting at the unfair fate.
    I felt for my brother,
    He who was down and out.

    And I promised
    To uplift him,
    To support him,
    To give him hope again,
    Before he hurt I again
    With disappointments….

    And when the sun rose up
    From her deep slumber,
    And when another day had been given birth to,
    We found our way home,
    Staggering and struggling with self doubts in the muddy footpaths to nowhere…

    If only this dear brother knew the many demons and evil fates I had fought before and I was still fighting….

    Going down.

    © Ayoub Mzee 2013

Black Chroma

What ails you black hue?

For wherever a mortal sets foot forth,

You never cease to blight her path with a devastating precision.

You are an apparition, a mist in a gist of a single moment.

You’re an enigma who brutally refuses a description,

And your appellation is not easy to comprehend.

You are the dark angel,

Shimmering and simmering in your laconic chromatic black.

 

Colour black you are some mystery in which you cloak yourself in,

And peeling the layers of lies off you is a Herculean task.

You’re a silhouette of beings in darkness,

And whom you effortlessly sip life from mercilessly.

Yet in your mystery, you’re regal, and we bow in awe.

You inspire fear and intrigue.

Your wearer is a marked man. Your host is a marked woman.

For the black art and occult consult you.

You’re Gothic, chasing the shadows of life masked in a death promise.

 

You sing a dire dirge in a funeral,

And mourners must mourn in black.

Subdued in dark somber tones and moods,

The living are stifled of their right to leave or live.

The things you hide in your darkness are momentous.

In your unwarranted ornate fiesta of doom, we are but helpless jetsams

Of your unkind gesture in mocking dear life.

You beckon with a languid hand,

A flight to oblivion..

 

In the stillness of the night, you and the willing darkness

Engage in an obscene dance of intimate lovers,

Whose heart’s contents and dark desires they are familiar with.

In the night, they play lucid games of deceit and the owl is the umpire in this empire.

In the darkness, witches, thieves, murderers, villains and vampires find refuge,

She embraces them in an earnest hug of sure death.

The moon is a shy nymph, undecided lass bearing the gift of dark light

Who lie, conquered by the long shadows of tempests.

Oh Black hue, your symbolism is rich.

What hails you black hue?

© Ayoub Mzee 2012