Untitled

Sleep was stolen from me.
Finances discussed.
And agreed upon.
Lose yourself.
In my incoherence.
Now.

Peaches begun this.
Glitches in life.
A walk on water.
Surface tension.
Spontaneous beliefs.
Methinks a rethink.
Suicidal ideologies.
Blunt knife edges.
Onion-induced tears.
Heartbreak next door.
I love you still.
K.
Peter pan’s delusion.
Pituitary glands.
Puberty and armpits.
Hollowed out minds.
Mosquitoes love ears.
Iron-binding proteins.
Graduated cylinders.
Overflowing joy.
Bittersweet closure.

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Harmattan

The sun rises to greet a world
Hidden beneath the veil of fog
And protected from her fiery eye
By infinite motes of dust
Dancing on the northern wind.
Droplets of water coat the grass
But the air chafes my trachea
And my lips are raw and cracked
Like a breaking heart…

By noon, the sun sits atop the sky
Blazing with her yellow radiance
And the clouds glow in her presence.
She passes on to all life her blessing
Of unconditional presence and the
Burden of a love burning too hot.
Sometimes the clouds coalesce and
Drift towards her trying to involve
Her in a great atmospheric orgy
Of gases, particles and energy.
She might be regal and unwavering,
Ignoring her consorts completely.
Other times, she gets distracted,
Giving in to their demands while
We beneath clamour for cuddles
Like the weather’s for two…

Dusk is indescribably beautiful
Like your first true love…
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
My uncle told me once,
Not in these little words
That i shall tell you now,
About the death of the stars.
He told me about nights
That had a million pinpricks
Of light showering down
On the earth beneath and the
Moon felt like a stone throw away.
He felt that these days
Someone was sewing up
The heavenly fabric and shutting off
Those little holes in the sky…

The Bar

I sit at the bar but I am also
the sole barman in this tavern I own.
The scenery is in a black and white
Monochrome like it’s a vintage movie.
The walls are constructed from my little
Intellectual knowledge. A proper
Study of the walls will reveal fine grains
Of scribbled words and numbers arranged in
An incoherent manner. Whoever
Has time enough to decrypt the unknown
Code will see it pan out as my very
Own autobiography, a code I
Cannot fully remember by myself.

Although, some areas have words that have
Been weathered down to smears and there are some
Patches of nothing. Blank and forgotten.
Here and there are memories painted out
As living murals. A few picture frames
Hang on the walls. If you walk close enough,
You’ll feel waves of emotions wash over
You. My tavern is beastifully made.
here my angels and demons come to drink
amongst other social indulgences.

Business is good with some regulars and
Karaoke. Today, Lust waltzes with
Pornography, dancing a masterful
Pirouette as Vanity and Envy
Sing A lovely duet. Shame decides to
Grace us with his dour presence. He’s always
Interested whenever those two dance while
I walk around polishing tables and
Cleaning mugs, preparing for a busy
Day. The bell rings as the door opens and
In comes a glowing version of myself.

He’s white; not Caucasian white nor the white
Of chalk but that of purity. Unspoiled.
Vanity and Envy falter but I
Spur them on, what’s a good pub without good
Music? I know, today, my angels will
Come knocking. Literally. Everyone
Else just walks in. Mr White grabs a seat
At a table right in the centre of
The room and orders a mug of distilled
Water and tells me to keep it coming.
He hints that he’ll be hosting a friend here.

Soon, other customers walk in and my
Business is now running in full flow and
I am making my rounds, serving drinks and
Receiving orders. There’s surprisingly
Much to drink considering that there’s no
Bottle of alcohol on the shelves, just
Elixirs and potions, Water from the
Fountain of youth, Liquid adrenaline.

Valour arm-wrestles with Malice and I
Cannot tell who the winner will be. I
Deliver another plate of food to
Gluttony as Anorexia cheers him
On, himself not ordering anything,
Ironic. Melancholy stares into
His empty glass cup. I ask if he wants
A refill. He looks up and I see the
Pain in his eyes, his tears unshed. There is
A brief moment of intimacy and
We connect as he starts to reply me.

He’s suddenly crowded by a pair of
Twins, Suffering and Smiling, who start an
Incessant chatter, Melancholy laughs
At something said. I fill his glass, saying
That one’s on the house. Misery does love
Company. As I walk back to the bar,
I wonder why those two are twins. I mean,
We all share the same negro complexion
And have the same foundation of self, yet
Everyone in the room is different.

Piety over there is a shrivelled
Old man but he’s the same age as every
One else. I think he is just atrophied.
Lust has a habit of licking his lips
And there’s always something sly in his eyes.
Mr White is an enigma, unknown.
Pornography walks around with a bulge.
Shame is bald-headed and never looks you
In the eye. Gluttony’s too fat to move.
I wonder how he gets in. Malice has
A voice like gravel and scars everywhere.

Individual perks might be subtler still
Like Melancholy using mascara.
Suffering is always with a smile while
Smiling never smiles but if you look in
Their brown eyes you can tell their true natures.
Envy and Vanity are the best of
Friends who will do almost anything for
Attention. Valour’s only equal in
Strength is Malice but Piety still keeps
Him in check. It is worth mentioning that
He is the only one with a grown beard.

Knowing who’s who is no big deal for me,
Being so familiar with everyone
But it could be taxing for someone new.
However, they all have their names on their
Persons: tattoos, name tags or shirt designs.
All you have to do is look, that is if
You can read and understand my language.

Shame later comes to clear his tab and says
There’s little room for him anymore with
The increased patronage but he’s sorry
He has to leave. He says his goodbyes and
Hurries to the door. As he opens the
Door, a female figure is lurking at
The doorway. Mr White is up from his seat,
proper and gentlemanly, he welcomes
Her in. She shouts “What’s up, Bitches?” while we
all stop and stare, startled and stupefied.

Salt

Frozen as a pillar of salt
Do not cry on my shoulders
Each tear drop only ends up
Dissolving the memory of me.
Leave me not in abandon
Lift me up and cart me away
Take a pinch of me everyday
And cook yourself happy meals.

Midas vs Medusa: Chapter 4 – Climax

When does a war climax?
In preparation for battle?
The anticipation, misgivings
Reminisces and misplaced
Hope for the future?
What exactly is
The climax of a battle?
The roar and the screams
As men become rumbling
Beasts thirsty for blood?
The rain of arrows or
The feel of steel?
Thrilling and fleeting…

As two mortals undress for
Battle, the gods wager
On the outcome as they
Seem to have lost the thread
In the weave of fate…

His every touch creates a
Ripple of gold on her
Skin, spreading into waves
Of desire that crash against
The rock of her will,
Weathering it down.
Her riposte is subtle
Aggression, a change of
Stance and the release
Of insidious pheromones
Robbing him his desire
To leave. Subsuming him
In her curved and silky terrain
Marked with erogenous landmarks
And a prized fountain
Promising to squirt orgasms.
Here, Midas kneels and drinks
Deeply trying to satisfy
an insatiable urge, not to
Sate his thirst, but to please
The fountain. He drinks and
The landscape heaves as
The fabric of the fountain
Contracts rhythmically
Spraying Midas with its
Alkaline water of life…

The gods sit, enraptured,
Watching the battle unfold.
The odds remained even
As two bodies promised the
Telling of a story untold…

Midas wields a spear
With a shaft criss-crossed
With veins like rivulets of gold.
Medusa has no armour,
Medusa has no weapons,
Every inch of her body is
Trained in this artful dance
Of deadly seduction.
For every thrust
There’s a parry;
A subtle shift in stance;
Hip reverse rotation;
A break in motion;
An overt change in position.
They become as animals:
Searching for primal satisfaction.
He bites, She scratches.
He snarls, She moans.
The two become indistinct,
Flowing in and out of each other
That it sometimes may seem
Even to a trained eye
That Medusa has the spear
And Midas lays unarmed;
That Medusa is sculpted of gold
And Midas frozen into stone…

In the heavens above
The clouds still weep,
In the heaven above that
The gods moan and groan
As Mortals and immortals climax.

Her legs – Samuel Kwarus

Because something must kill a man…

Kwarus' Blog

Have you seen her legs?
Well straightened and
A little curved at the bottom
When its wrapped around you
Your soul drifts away
When she catwalks
It makes me quiver down my spine
I took one look and I know
I was seeing trouble
Oh I need a glass of water
I can’t afford too many looks
Because she’s so tempting
She is what can kill a man
But I have made up my mind
That I’ll die in her arms
Because something must kill a man

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