When fear drinks from the clench of our boldness and we are left with the crumbs that could only be sniffed by ants of millions tears. When we are left to treat our naked clothes torn by the wind off the lines of life. What exactly would be our thoughts if we were fishes that pass through thorns in the water?

When all that could arouse our muse are offsprings of dark cele-stair. Our minds draw closer to many hydra headed desert of threnody, sandwiched with sobber escapade because of the songs that seduce dinosaurs to fly into our closet. When our solace becomes the wing on which pride ogle to hunt our humility and our right is chattered away like the hair in a virgin’s armpit.

When our trust diminish like an ink of a weak lens and we become the round cover on the two fingers of a photographer losing focus while his eyes look ahead. When we are the decision made by the night pots situated on a cross junction. When our lives turn to an evergreen tree with wilted arms and our roots go deeper into the soil of time without holding a stem. When we become the night drum, beaten on every side and enjoyed with cups of palm wine in the hands of the black hearts.

When our tongues roll in different wraps and a rumbling water is well understood than our clear voices. When we sleep and snore like a disturbed frog and beat ourselves for the expectation of some feasting proboscis. When our relaxed minds are full of gentle looking bothersome shadow and everything around us seems like koan.

Even if our noses are tattered like a mucus-shed from a Dog’s nose and our hearts have been broken like a rod wearing its rust. Let’s say this owl has entered a wolf’s scarlet face and the universe is ajar to the colour of our tongues.

Let us just wear our crown of laughter, for we know that there isn’t a boy that has no name and the land that hasn’t faced a knock has not existed, while a womb without fluid is just a wound. On this path of noisy silence of some clowns dressed in their caftan of righteous theft, let’s turn our threnody to their mourning and redress the table to suit their coffins. For the time of vengeance comes quickly. Never ask a curlew why it pipes or eagle why it screech. Just listen to their voices and wish them bad luck.

Share this:

Like Love Haha Wow Sad Angry
Did you enjoy this story? Then pay a tip to subscribe to their email list and get premium, exclusive content from them

What do you think?

Join The Tell! Community

Read, write and connect on Africa's most creative community for writers, thinkers and storytellers

Get Started