I don’t walk alone

I don’t usually walk alone

But I know the beauty of solitary saunters

And I know how sweet it is to hum tunes my brain credits itself for

so I walk with my music

and my problems too

Chanting them as if to entertain the whizzing winds

Singing them as if the melodies would shoo them away,

With the incessant brrrr!s they leave on my ears

Chorusing them to the birds

Just as if their responses are solutions

Chirp! Chirp! they quip, and I sing along

There’s a solution to my troubles,

The winds and birds know,

I don’t walk alone.

I don’t walk alone.

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The environment

The environment
The beauty, the marvel
It be the breath of fresh air that our hearts beat on
Or that splash of clean water that more often than not quenches our thirsts,
It’s an ineffable magnificence
Straight from the rejuvenating sunrises, our dear vitamin D
To the brain calming orange sunsets that we love to watch
It’s that mango, it’s slices that are Life; food
Or that kale whose leaves taste so good
And the shade we quite often enjoy
And again, the tree or two that’s the timber on our roof…

The environment
The undying source that for granted we take
And for the proverbial beings we are
None will miss the waters till the wells run dry
It’s the trees we cut and don’t replace
That’ll be the death of our fresh air
It’s the waste that we’d rather dispose in a river
That’ll be the extinction of our fish
And oh well, burnt plastics
To see to it that seeing starry nights becomes a fairy tale
And to cup it all up
The beauty that’ll be turned to a dream
If we cease to conserve

Will I…

I’m in the bathroom and my water is cold

I feel man enough today to not have it warmed,

My water isn’t just cold, it freezes

My knuckles shudder,my teeth rattle

And all these, just at sight….

Will I bathe today?

My racing heartbeat, and my trembling torso know better

My still dry sponge knows too..

Flora, Flora Botanica.

She said that I liked tea….but I didn’t like tea..I liked black tea I opined…so she begged to ask…why black? And I cheesily retorted that Black reeks of pain and dark…and that black tea tastes like the honk of a lorry with a dying battery..
“That must be so swee..” I didn’t let her finish conveying that sentiment
‘Do you mean to say that pain, darkness and a sickly lorry honk frenzy your taste buds?’…
My acquaintance didn’t say a word..she went on to sip from my concoction of tea leves, masala and water then closed her eyes blissfully..just as if the tea was draining to her heart instead of her stomach..
I was about to conclude that she loved it when my now silky faced acquaintance asked ‘ so you don’t take sugar too?’
For a moment I didn’t have the words but before she could brand me weird, I went like..’ I think I like my Mercury better measuring temperatures than sweetening beverage.’..what I took after saying that wasn’t a sip..it was a gluttonous gulp
I was laughing last..or so I thought..but I wasn’t ready for this..
‘ Do you mind sharing your diabetes story’
Okay she’d won now. And you know, it was eight in morning..I only win most of my word fights in the afternoon so I motioned my hand toward hers for a handshake..’Edward, Edward Wright’, I said in my vain bass
Shaking my hand quite firmly, she said, ‘I’m Flora, Flora Botanica..I hate flowers. Pollen more specifically, stinging sneezes.’
‘You do realize you’re an irony Flora’ I quip.
‘ It’s been two decades of that statement in my ears..it’s my best cliché’
I wasn’t winning this one.

It all was about my fill..

I can’t say I loved those eggs

I can’t say there was anything sweet about them

I can’t lie to you there even was a drop of oil in there let alone a single onion

But I’ve gotta tell you

That, Doe, it never was about my tongue

Or about the pungency I’d create after that

Amidst all these..what mattered most

Was that I needed me a good stretch of the stomach

It All Was About My Fill

And it mattered not how much the rest loathed them

I hated hunger, I will displeased by anger

I still am.

I know I’m….

Paper and pen might not ever be enough
To capture perfect descriptions of what my heart says
Words might not ever interpret satisfactorily
The palpitations the thought of her casts on my heart
I might not ever be able to tell
What it is her voice does to my ears
And when she laughs in those voice notes
That serendipitous giggle that’s a siren’s song to my heart
My words might not ever explain the musical notes
And how marvellously those cords are tuned.
I might not be able to ever tell
What it feels like to lay my eyes on her when she’s not looking
To stare into her eyes when and to feel immersed in them
Or just looking into that sumptuous bosom she sports
Or those well curved servings of African glory…
Well to say the possible least
She’s just this one Haven of a marvel that happened in my life
A Heavensent soul, an answered prayer
A massive addition to why I’m blessed
She’s a redefinition of what my dreams look like
She’s the best description of what awesome company is to me..
Sometimes my brain waves just wander into this thought that she’s this sole key that could free set this soul of mine from the pain that time deals onto life….
She’s my best description of Love

I know I’m in Love…

Memories

Sometimes I trudge down this path…and it always has a story to tell…
It tells many an elaborate story, clear to the finest bit, accompanied with high definition moving pictures…and sometimes..not so often though..it comes with renditions of crystal clear sound and voices
Sometimes the story is sweet…so sweet I get engulfed in it and forget I’m not exactly within the time-set of that story
Sometimes it gets so funny…I burst out laughing…I laugh so hard my ribs ache… so hard people wonder why on Earth I would just suddenly laugh alone
And well sometimes I sigh in relief… thanking God that things happened the way they did and not in any other way lest things wouldn’t be the same now
Sometimes the stories move me to tears and I let them flow freely as if to wash away the pain with them
Many at times though…the stories give me hope and a reason to live on, a reason to continue with the struggle

It’s called Memory lane; this neat path I trudge down sometimes….and well it narrates stories of my memories so well. It almost always is worth the day-dream