The picture

Strangely, I've always wanted to appear natural in your picture. Not excessively gifted by nature with a beautiful face or striking looks; just real. I thought you would place me in an old rustic kitchen, nothing like the ones we have these days... One with cold water and concrete slabs; no modern artifacts to marr the scene. I pictured a cheery little fire place breathing warmth into the room where I'd stand in an old blue dress. I'd have an apron of course, it'd be white with stains of soot from when soiled hands strayed unconsciously. They'd be an old toothless black dog asleep at my feet on the cold stone floor and a wooden table at the centre of the room loaded with a colourful assortment of fruits and vegetables.... My hair would be wild, tangled in the way only sea breezes can or perhaps the eager fingers of an amateur lover. I'd be smiling, a smile woven by the laughter of children or walking barefoot in the sand.... There'd be white sheets hung out to dry, billowing in the wind like incarcerated angels fighting for their freedom. Then there'd be you, beautiful as ever, seated behind the untamed sheets in those moccasins I beg you constantly to throw away. That premature grey in you hair that you think makes you look distinguished would be even more evident now amidst the myriad of blinding white cloth. You'd have a playful lopsided grin on your face as you drunk every thing in and translated it to your intriguing poetry that is art. Then, you'd be as intoxicated by me as I am, always by you.

Of broken hearts and restoration.

I held a stranger in my arms last night. She was cold and broken on the inside out and, filled with pain, afraid of the of the ghosts of the past that had come to haunt her. She held me so tight, I was afraid I would be ripped to shreds and yet I knew I wouldn't let her go even if I had the chance to.......

I hadn't been to church in I while... OK, I had been to church but just not the one my papa and mama are ministers at. I have never been overly enthusiastic about being a pastor's kid and given that I was a bit of a tomboy when I was younger, you imagine my horror at being all dolled up in pink, silly looking girly dresses and being made to sing in front of a congregation. Then as I grew older, I having to join some kind of ministry at every stage of my life and by default, be the said ministry leader and so on and so forth. I felt a strange need to escape this life and that is how my diabolical alter ego was born; the one who has successfully burst out of her spiritual bubble and decided to adventure a little......

Anyhow, there was a meeting at church and the old folks wanted me to go. I hated the idea, I had spent the whole day at the office and all I wanted to do was go sweet talk my movie guy into giving me a couple of free movies and head home. I ended up going, I guess if you knew my mom you would kow why.

We were late and the speaker had already started. He wasn't one of the fiery types and I was glad because I had a headache already. He wore a banale grey suit and had unassuming forgettable features; the kind that you could pass on a street and forget immediately. His lips were moving but I could barely hear what he was saying, I was too busy flirting with the cute stranger next to me.

I don't know what he said but he got my attention. His gaze held a sort of tangible magnetic intensity and I was suddenly fearful that he could see right through me. He talked about emotional wounds that cause heartbreak, how in His ministry, Jesus was so sure about his father's love and what it must have felt like for him to be deserted on the cross for us. He talked about rejection and how destructive it is and how Christ came to restore us from that destruction. All this time he looked at me, his intense gaze fixed as if to say 'don't bother hiding' I can see you!'

He asked the congregation to share their testimonies and each one came in tears sharing the unbearable pain they carried, the heartbreak they felt, the shame they hid from...... I sat in my chair and felt something in my gut constrict and my chest weighed a tonne. The people kept coming and then he asked then to come forward and pray together. I stood transfixed, afraid and embarrased to move, to be seen as flawed, weak, in pain......

"Bretheren in the congregation, come foward and hold the ones standing at the front"

I would have missed his summons if my sister hadn't dragged me foward. What was I supposed to tell these aching hearts? Jesus loves you and it will all be ok? He kept repeating the demand that we should forgive in order to set ourselves free. Forgive, forgive, forgive... I looked at the person standing next to me and held her without thinking. I felt her body shudder in an attempt to fight the emotion even before I felt her tears soaking my shirt. She clung to me like I was her life line, hoping to tap into some strength, perhaps. We stood there painting an odd picture of strangers in embrace and yet our hearts were strangely in tune... I don't know how long it took but the raging storms finally calmed and we let do as if only then did we recall that we were strangers. I turned to walk away and like the whispering of the sighing wind, I heard the words "God bless you" and that was enough.

When you are gone

I pray for the day that you shall die
When in my heart, you are nothing more than a fading memory.
I pray for the day I shall smell your rotting corpse
in the earth that is me,
When the worms shall devour you and make me fertile.....
There shall be no dirge,
No church bells re-echoing pain.....
No ceremony,
No casket carried out,
No wreaths laid at your grave...
The children shall play in street corners,
Running away from the incessantly nagging mothers.
The men shall drink overly much and throw drunken tantrums
And I shall cry,
Happy happy tears
As I take a piss on your decaying carcass

What’s done in the dark

She gathers up her clothes, half afraid to look at him
Sticky with sweat, with him
The sweet agony of seconds back forgotten,
In it’s place; shame and misery.
He grunts, sighs and turns dreaming perhaps of someone else,
She sneaks past leaving behind a candle
Glowing unceremoniously in the dark.
Alone. Cold.


He jabs his arm, swears loudly, tries again
In a corner lying forgotten, his crooked spoon
Black from over use.
He finds the vein, swears then groans; part pain, part pleasure
The needle joins the spoon on the floor
He rises, soaring high, leaving behind a candle
Brilliant flame, burning bright and true
Penetrating the darkness.


I lie in my bed
Warm, snug, fed
Looking at the moon through my window
Haunted by memories that linger
Praying for relief, the comfort of forgetfulness
Neither comes.
On my wall
Shadows of roaring flames
Burning, burning
Reaching higher and higher
I shut my eyes tightly and fall into a troubled sleep.


At dawn we all rise,
Her, Him, Me
Last night’s fires seemingly gone,
Covered by cheery smiles that belie our guilt……
Inside, the flames rage on
Burning high and fierce
Smoking, staining us with soot on the inside
We are all slaves.

Then night comes again.

Drama in real life part 2: The kiss

"What makes you so sure I'm made of stone and how sure are you that I don't feel the same way?"
I can hear my heart in my ears, that deafening sound of half fear half relief that comes when two people admit they are attracted to each other. The knowledge that what happens next is left completely to chance and fate.
He holds me then, the moment seems endless, I feel myself rise and my heart beats louder at every new height. In his eyes I can see the fire that I know is the reason my eyes are stinging.
"Go"
He mouths it almost painfully, like they very thought of me comlpying is death in itself. I stand confused, speechless and slowly we walk, through the door, out onto the dirt road, hand in hand not saying a word.
I ask him to say something, any thing. The tension is so thick it can be cut.
"There's really nothing to say"
He puts my hand and his into the pocket of his sweat shirt, I feel a fresh tinge of warmth at the gesture. He is different but it's nice....

Later, I dream of his eyes, their intense penetration that scares me half to death and yet now, that I cannot live without.

Saturday, I'm hanging with my girls, all I see is their lips moving, I can't hear their words. I feel transported to a place that only I seem to see. Him. I hate him and what he is doing to me. I'm in a club, music is blaring,dancing sweaty bodies everywhere. Him again, in my head, in my blood. I hate it. I'm on the phone with him, silly excuse about a book which I suddenly need.... urgently.

I'm at his home in a few, wondering what possessed me to com, feeling the old familiar happy fear. He lets me in and again, there are no words, everything said with just one look. I feel cramped, claustrophobic, I check to see if the windows are open, they are. I sit. I stand and begin to pace. I sit again and in his eyes I see laughter. He sees my anxiety and is amused by it.

Times passes; a minute? an hour? Two? I don't know..... Somehow it doesn't matter. I know in that instant it's now or never. It happens so fast I barely have time to catch my breath....
Hands, hearts, breath, lips, tongue, darkness, pleasure. Nothing is awkward, no fidgeting wondering where the hands should be placed, just primitive impulses,; no restrain, no control, just desire and the need for it to be satisfied. Nothing one pictures in a first kiss, usually those are supposed to be chaste and sweet, awkward and experimental.... It was nothing like that. No, it wasn't. And then, things got out of control....

To be continued........