My Court

Do you swear to say the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help you God? I swear to say anything that pleases human vanity but does not necessarily represent the truth. I don’t think I need God’s help; he has been needy for quite a long time. I think I will help myself.

I find it difficult to understand the concept of truth in your court, your Honor. You have black hair, yet you wear a wig with synthetic white hair. You have been given the powers of a god, so I must address you as Lord.

You have selected great titles for yourselves, just to please your egos. 

Your judgement therefore becomes the by-product of a bruised ego. One go, we all go. You all could go, in one direction risking the freedom of the lowly man. Yes the only man providing for a large family,which he calls his kingdom.

My lord, this case will not be adjourned. You will not buy time from this trial just to sip bourbon. You will mime to the words I speak, coupled with the clicks from that old typewriter battered by the clerk.

You will listen. And when the trial is over, you can coil back into the fake disguise you call justice.

No further comments, your honor!

Still Here

Forget me and I will be your habit.

Ignore me and I will be your shadow.

Change me, and a fortress is what I’ll become. Like the regular routines of the sun.

Make me unpopular and I will be in nine of every ten sentences made.

Leave me out to dry and the shade I will provide will cover a great many.

Nowhere, somewhere and “allwhere” will be packed over there.

Cos my destination is definite – Here.

So rant, rave, curse, sweat, take a deep breath, sigh, cry and ask why.

Yet here is where, and where is here, but there will never be, for eternity.

Tomorrow today

Tomorrow i will be in the news, with an old picture of my former self. yes tomorrow i will be having a chat with him, although i will be asking all the questions, i will be asking them anyway. Tomorrow i will miss your call, the one that contains several lamentations over purported actions. in fact, tomorrow will be disaster day- the day of an avalanche of incessant calls. Tomorrow will be different for all my “loved ones” .Tomorrow’s sentences will be stamped with disappointment and in red ink. The question i ask myself every morning cannot be answered tomorrow with the same eagerness with which it was asked. My today’s and tomorrows are always in conflict, leading me to question how i manage my expectations of future developments. So even though there are newspaper articles about me, its just another day in my quiet life. You should have done this, i told you so, i would have done the other thing, are groups of words that move from me to my former self.

Am i crazy? am i talking to myself? does my former self exist? does the existence of these questions question my sanity?. These questions are not for you son; they are meant for my former self. Let him answer, yes let him take responsibility for his own actions and reap the actions of yesterday. I say these words with passion, yet the cuffs are locked to my wrists.

I belong to today, not to tomorrow or maybe neither. Every argument pushes me farther away from these two extremes. Maybe i belong to an undefined master. So let today and tomorrow fight over ownership, whiles i enjoy palm wine in the studio of the master.


There are days when it’s all words. The usual “I love  you ” and the more frequent “thank you baby “.
My favorite days are those when the body’s language is the only one spoken.
Chocolate coated strawberries is the chosen lure, conditioning me in the calm before the main event. The winks of my sweeter half – a multitude of meaning, the result of tailor made touches.
Beaming eyes, communicating double entendres, lingering at sunset, gives me a glimpse of paradise. Wishes are lived in the moment, and at climax, you realize dinner was delayed, kitchenware damaged, but pleasure heightened. It’s always a sweet discovery with my sweeter companion.


He went to school because mom and dad said it will help him become a better adult. She stayed in her room after school, and always replied “I got to finish my homework” whenever “food was ready”. Well what do these two people have in common? – A strong dislike of boundaries. He often asked questions that left teachers pleasantly surprised, and more often embarrassed. She hid behind the excuse of homework to finish breathtaking works of art. Their parents had frequent visits to their respective schools, because they were regarded as troublemakers. The school authorities figured the kids needed help, all in an attempt to confine them to the “normal kid ” enclosure. There is a countless number of people who have to contend with well meaning individuals, self appointed life stewards all around this beautiful planet. Unnecessary boundaries embedded in seemingly harmless words and phrases like shut up”,yeah right!, you too young, this is above you, ” populate the spaces of that cold story repeated over and over in the winters of my mind. There should be no boundary to human endeavor….

Please don’t…

Please don’t ask how I’m doing. I’ve been doing for a substantial length of time. Asking how I’m doing has become second nature to you and several others who  always ask the same question without meaning it.
Please don’t give off that artificial smile when I appear in your peripheral vision, shake my hand, pat me on the back or any other unnecessary expression supposed to make me feel safe in your care.
And please don’t ask why I feel this way just because it’s contrary to what the average human feels. Shame, yes shame on you for putting me in the average category and feeling average about it. Dip your entire existence in shame for hiding your true feelings in the depths of average falsehood.
Please don’t ask why I pay attention to your eyes and body language when we talk. Because I see and hear the difference in what your mouth speaks, and it’s quite exciting, but shame on me for answering the question.
Please don’t ask me how many hours of sleep I have lost. But please do ask about my monsters. And I will be glad to tell you, but cant instruct them to protect you. As I plead for your inaction, do not feel sorry for not understanding.
So please understand right after you take a long walk in my warped shoes, and do not ever again, ask me for what you already know.


She looked tired, but happy. The smile on her face gave me confirmation. My facial expression  was more of an indifferent one than the usual. For I was told that, many babies expressed their displeasure after the planet earth was chosen as their place of residence. In fact a crying baby denoted normality, a ticket to be counted among the normal elite. Even though they had a choice, the incentive offered by mothers was enticing enough to steer action in the “normal” direction. It came in the  form of a pinch, or a flick of the finger against the baby’s skin. As papa rushed to get the midwife,  mama had already controlled the situation. As I layed down with my cheek in my palm, it was like a grown ass man thinking through a difficult situation. I received no incentive to snap out of that thinking process, thus recording the first weird event of my existence.
There were several of those weird moments scattered among my lifetime. My mom recalls instances where I would compose a song for peeing. I will be holding my weener, singing enthusiastically till I was done. She often looks on, in appreciation for the growth in me. I know she wished I shared those Wierd displays with my peers, but all I could see was an audience of my own. She often shearches the community for me, and found me playing with my “imaginary” friends in concealed areas.
Wierd hit my ear drums so many times, I thought it described my intellect. In fact I wish i still thought wierd was a compliment, because the artistic work it has inspired can’t be explained in black and white. I find this kind of weird beautiful. Maybe only my imaginary friends and I understand my situation.
You have become my friend because you are also Wierd…….

My date with color

They followed the bloody trail but there was nothing at the end of it. As the police helped to reduce traffic, others surprisingly came to a complete stop with their high lights on; in an attempt to help the crime scene investigators to follow the trail. My bicycle was parked, the lights were blinding, the pain, excruciating but not for long . The thundering sound of the rain soothed my pain, even better was the view. I quickly grabbed my phone, diving deep into my story. The desire to satisfy my writing cravings, was so intense that I couldn’t help it. The drivers caught in the traffic could not help it either. They screamed and shouted, but the two cars would not move until they were  cleared. For me, it was the perfect stage and setting for an interesting story. The uniforms of the police men at the scene were drenched heavily. The pain from a broken leg was not enough to stop me. Or so I  thought. In time the images that were to be my high, were blurred, it was like the fading transition of two PowerPoint slides.


Well, the current slide was a hospital bed with a doctor pointing a miniature flashlight at my eyes. Gradually, my vision was clear. Once I saw the doctor and her nurses standing by my bed, I smiled and said: don’t stand there and watch, c’mon give me a hand I got to get back to work

The two nurses immediately looked at each other with a surprised look on their faces. Ok Ok Ok! Can I get a pen and paper at least?, I asked in desperation. The doctor smiled as she handed me her pen as if to say, ” I understand “.
As I wrote the last parts of this piece, my monsters heartily munched away every single word. For me, worrying about my health at the time was the least of my problems. My monsters were starving, and that was all that mattered.
When you have a date with color, be sure to leave at least some crumbs for your monsters.

Purple imperfections

Her lips were clad in purple glitter. The small lights that fell on them made it even brighter. Even though I cannot say the same about the thoughts that run through my head, I still hold on to the promise of fun and excitement.

What could possibly be the reason for my fascination with purple? All I know is, purple looks good on her and it eventually became her pet name. At times she even thought I was just admiring purple, but what I was really doing was looking at myself. Asking for help like a man who is only accustomed to the use of the word “please”.

I blink my eye and I’m taken away into a paradise where all my favorite things are covered in purple. Yes the lips, curves and contours that form  this gorgeous structure.
With tears running down my face, in a faded voice, I say these words: “if a man in my position says please, it must mean something “.

She ignores my pain, poisons my expectation with a half smile and walks away into the dark until she’s out of sight.
The rest of the evening becomes lonely, leaving me coiled in the warmth of thick woolen blankets.
Thoughts of her, linger in the safe places of my mind. Those of which I never want to lose, so as a reminder, I pour tons of indelible purple ink onto my skin. A purple flower for each interaction, a careful gaze at her purple imperfections and a colorful thought keeps my purple in perpetual existence.


If you leave tonight, I fear you will be gone for good, so I hold on to whatever is left like  the last moments of a cancer patient who has finally found peace. As I hold on, memories of the temporary forevers we enjoyed, stands in my corner, urging me to endure. What I hold onto threatens to escape my grip, as the spikes puncture my veins, bleeding me out. I tell myself silently, I will not let go. My physical body is already exhausted, but I pay no mind to it. Gradually, what I see as human existence, crumbles into short bursts of blissful glimmers. Those I do not have any energy left to hold on to. I’m suddenly enveloped by thick gloom, the kind that leaves me in a state of total confusion. Nothing makes sense anymore. There’s no left, no right, no direction and no logic.
Yes, my end is tragic.