Twilight

Stuck in the gut of a guzzling lawn Ghostly memories strummed bland string Crushed by spiced terror, caged by sassy spring I sank darkly like a netted pawn Rippling stench of hell rendered harsh songs Their tales nothing soft and sweet could bring Fleeing from fear and struck by sour fling There echoed my fate like galling gong But swiftly, there arose a flawless flute It sang; summoning lost wits to a final fight; Panting and punching, faith put to flight Shadowy fear, so viperous and now so mute Stuck once in the gut of a guzzling rust I ruffled and bite until victory here burst

In large numbers we trooped, communally fleeing another round of genocide about to burst at the Eastern part of the country. We were all free Congolese but now, we have been torn from our homes and hope to become refugees in our ownland. For two days, we had journeyed, daubed with dust and weariness. Thousands of little children, now disrobed of innocence, lugged on their battered heads mountains of tattered mats, heavy bags and other bits and pieces. Reduced to mere skeletons, this unquenchable fire had forced them all into swift maturity. Unlike their mates in other parts of the world birthed into the tenderness and greenness of supple spring, they were born into gushing guns and vile violence. Most of us were women: married, widow, cripple, old and pregnant. And we bore the greatest chunk of this burden on our cracked backs. With bitterness, we reaped the works of male monsters, whose selfish war drove us away from our security and rest. We were mothers, scattered in pursuit of what...

May 2: Dear diary, something strange happened today while I was having my siesta. I felt someone kissed me deeply on the lips but when I opened my eyes, no one was there. I still don’t believe I was dreaming ‘cos it felt so real and …heavenly. The lips tasted like iced candy and the tongue like strawberry. One moment, it was there in colorful cluster, the next, it was gone. I shut my eyes dreamily hoping it would come back…. May 3: You won’t believe it but it happened again. This time around, it was in the bathroom. I was having my shower when I felt the lips again. Consciously, I surrendered my lips, responding to its candied sweetness. Almost immediately, unseen hands began to explore my overflowing nudeness. I moaned quietly when magical fingers tasted, tickled and thrilled my fallowed nipples. The searing tongue moved downward, past every beckoning distraction and settled on the centre of my fertile sea. I cried loudly as flaming tongue devoured my depth. When the tongue stopped it...

Twisting and twirling in the belly of this strain You move gaily to graceful refrain Flipping and flapping in the midnight lair You sweeten now like sugary clair. Fanning and stirring, this tender flair flourishes Passion blazes, mellowing echoes without straying stitches. Flipping and flapping in the midnight lair This strain you love and sure will blare.

They fell from gangling slips and muffled dreams. They fell from worled ways that could not stay. They too fell and fell but no one was there to tell.

Right now, I don't feel like writing. My spirit is down. Months after serving the nation, I am still here without a job and it is killing me. For how long Will this smile go wrong. For how long will i wait for the pretty sun? I hope i won't wait forever.

My name is Beauty and in two days, I would be 200 years old. Actually I am a tree As an old tree, my years have witnessed series of events played by man and fate. I was here when cursed with hatred, ambition and fear, Hitler sought to put the world in chain. Oh yes, I was here when tribal war crushed the backbone of a nation. I saw it all, the pain, the blood and the betrayal. And at such times, I had to wonder why man refused to be like the trees, peaceful and contented? Beauty, what a name. It was given to me by someone I loved and who I wish could have lived forever. Unfortunately, he died a week ago and I would forever mourn his mortality. So many years ago, something happened that I will never forget. That morning, I woke not only to the sweet caress of the early morning dew but also to the piercing cry of an infant. It could not be more than a day old and there it was helplessly naked in the frosty cold. Moved to tears, I shielded the precious thing with the best of me. It was ca...