Desolate and tired.
Lifeless and beaten out.
Forgotten and forlorn.
Huggard and torn.
They lie down,
Not unlike in a defeated supplication position.
One sorry sandal lies upon the other sad sandal,
As if seeking for sad companionship.
Suddenly the door of the mud-walled hut opens, And it’s equally huggard occupant emerges out.
He wears a sour scrowl.
He harshly steps on the unfortunate sandals.
He curses under his breath,
As he roughly plants the sandals into his feet.
He proceeds to the latrine,
On an urgent mission.
These sandals are cursed,
He speaks to himself.
He always leaves them outside.
He is sure some witch uses them at night on some nefarious missions.
He has been having strange dreams.
He has been having strange ailments.
He must throw away these sandals before he dies or goes down with something nasty.
But he can’t.
‘Cause he does’t have any other pair of sandals.
‘Cause he’s got no money to buy any other pair of sandals.
And that is the sad story of the sandals…
© Ayoub Mzee Mzima 2013
Quality time spent together.
A movie here.
A night out there.
Yet he won’t ask her for her phone number.
Yet she would never be the first to ask for his phone number.
She was a proud woman,
She who never stooped low,
She who always had her way.
But this man,
This one fine specimen of a vital masculinity was a something totally different…
She swore never to ask for his digits,
She swore never to ask for his facebook, linkedin, skype, google+, twitter and netlog contacts… Never.
Yet she longed to hear his tantalizing voice.
Yet she wished to read his mind through the social websites interactions with other humanities…
© Ayoub Mzee Mzima 2013
She said she loved watching a man eat.
The way he holds his fork and knife,
The way he cuts and shoves the beef into his mouth,
And slowly munches contentedly,
It is something that does certain things to her spirit.
She said she loves the way a man eats.
The hunger in a man’s eyes lights up a fire in her.
And when she cooks for him,
The knowledge that she can feed this hunger, his hunger, is awesome.
It is a power that she relishes.
She loves seeing a man eat.
A man who eats well, is well, a man capable of many things.
A strong and healthy man is important to her.
For she too have a hunger.
A hunger of her own.
A fierce hunger.
A hunger that needs to be fed.
Her man will feed her.
It will be.
She looks forward,
To be devoured by her man’s aspirations.
Nocturnal agenda is set.
She watches her man finish eating.
He smiles at her.
She smiles back, with a private knowledge.
A thousand fireworks explodes in her soul.
Longings silhouettes her lean loins.
A pride of lions.
And she can never ran away from this need.
And she can never deny this hunger deep in her soul.
The night has began and with a coy smile,
She puts out the candles.
The fire inside of her continues burning her wishes.
She said she loves to watch a man eat.
She smiles in the dark light…
© 2012 Ayoub Mzee
As the earth gives up life,
It’s sun-scorched soil refuses life.
Bareness claims another causality of furious nature.
Need surrounds every hope.
Thirst sears patched throats.
Reprieve is nowhere.
Suffering and anguish fills the long days.
Scratching the dead land for a living is not unlike a slow death.
The sun burns life beneath to oblivion it with a certain fury.
Winds sweeps away the dreams.
Darkness is unable to conceal the suffering.
The lunar can only illuminate the naked pain.
Mother mature can never forgive transgressions.
She was raped and battered by man.
Now man must pay for his sins.
All the trees that were callously cut down shall haunt his soul.
For the rain shall not rain again.
Droughts and famines shall be the seasons to count the passage of time.
Mother nature is unforgiving….
© Copyright 2012 Ayoub Mzee