Romance with Melancholy

Air heavy with my depression,
Strangling, clouding my every thought.
Her laborious seduction reaches
Its tiring peak as I begin
My romance with melancholy.

Darkness suffuses my being
Reflected in my teary eyes.
Her kiss weighs heavy on my heart
With whispers of solitude in
My romance with melancholy.

Teetering on the lip of a
Precipice. Do I pull myself
Up or fall deeper into this
My romance with melancholy?

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“Sex Ed for village boys” by Alexander Ikawah

Story story…

Jalada

Sex-ed for village boys

The most I had seen of sex by the time I joined secondary school was during an evening prep session back in primary eight when I dropped my eraser accidentally. I bent under my desk to find it and there, underneath the last desk on our row, Nancy Wendo was playing with my friend Mangwana’s penis, Caroline had her skirt pulled all the way back on one side, laying bare her big fat thigh, and Mangwana had his hand inside her white knickers. She was lying on the desk, sleeping, but upon closer observation, I saw that her eyebrows were knitted and her lips twitched too much for a person who was asleep. Nancy on the other hand was rubbing Mangwana’s erect penis languorously, her thumb grazing the very tip and flicking the foreskin up and down so that the pink base of the head flashed and disappeared like the bottom of a long turgid glowworm…

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Midas vs Medusa: Chapter 3 – Midas

Mind encompassed by greed
A life that can’t be bought
But his soul has a price tag
A man of little emotion
Driven by the basest of needs
Living miserly in wealth
A wealth that beggars gods
As their envy lights up
The cloudy pall above
Thunderous wrath echoes
Through deserted streets
Whilst most mortals flee
He sees a separate soul
Sit with its beauty on display

In this city of sin
Wealth is power and law
The richest citizen is god
And only he has infinite gold
Worshipped by the poor
By the beggars on the street
Who invoke his name at daybreak
But their platters remain empty
Whilst he looks on in disdain
Charity begins an investment
An investment contains risk
Risk is an opportunity
The opportunity is wealth
A wealth for someone else
He is rarely charitable

It is always a rare thing
Something truly priceless
Of Value increasing ad infintum
Even rarer a thing with a price
Only to be bought with curiosity
A curiosity he can ill afford
Leaving his little army
Of bodyguards behind
To watch the entrance
He walks into the brothel
Aiming for the master’s office
Passionate grunts and moans
leak through the curtain walls
Each trying to drown out
The sound of the others
But all working together
To give life to his dusty loins

Arriving at her wooden door
A subtle show of status
He ponders on his reason here
Lust and love far from it
Curiosity is an indulgence
“Veni, Vidi, Vici”
No greater conquest than
The conquest over oneself
Though unbeknownst to him
A battlefield stands prepared
Her perfect form an invitation
As Beauty usually precedes war
His reply loud and clear
A single knock to show consent
As he waits, the city waits
Even the gods hold their breaths
Watching the battle unfold