A MESSENGER OF LOVE;by Muia Dennis

A MESSENGER OF LOVE;
The night was eerie, the breeze filled its capacity in the artic, the booze in my hands, wore me out. A jog of my thoughts, an that very Saturday, had caught me in this situation.
It all began on that vivid hot sunny afternoon as we lay in the pool, the water was cold, the breeze was perfect, our heads to cool.
Then it happened, striding like a colossus, finest architecture ever, never taught in school.
Her sight had me mesmerized, before I knew it, I became a fool.
She came to my rescue, for I was drowning, a dozen glasses of water, one litre of love.
Tell me, how bad can it be, when a girl saves your life? Especially if she is the love of your life?
Her bright smile greeted me when I came to my sense, she had done more than enough, my life she saved, I felt indebted to her, so I swore to return the favor, to make her happy, and bring sheer joy in her soul.
Her wish to be my command, for she raised me back to life like dough, she was the reason for my living and breathing; literally.
"Please tell him to call me tonight," tell him to meet me at the joint," Her post master general I became, the duty she gave me, she did appoint, I became her chief advisor, on relationships that is, she was my savior and me she did anoint.
My way of returning the favor, though it hurt my mentality and my heart joint. It was as if she could see through me, like I was a mirror, in me she saw other mens' reflection.
Kalas! To my thoughts. Ladies and and gentlemen, that is my story, fair ladies and noble gentlemen, a tale of love at first sight, a magic come true to present.
Hurt on the first night, unanswered text messages of sleep tight, sweet dreams and so on and so forth.
So sad and sorrowful for I loved her, love her still and so shall I always. If only she gives me a chance, a moment, me and her, a momentum.
Hope she someday see me in a different light, the saddest part of the story is that, Its only until today, actually right now that I have realized what I have become,
A genie in the lamp, a man constantly feeling blue, A MESSENGER OF LOVE.
by
 Muia Dennis

THE LOVE, THE FEELINGS...BY mutie oscar ghitto

the love. the feelings. the burn. they feel it. they melt under it, and drown under it. i watch. like an overseer on his land, i stroll. i let the eyes do their work. then i can feel it. Their search. critical and careful. for signs. any signs. And it pays. am ecstatic. am proud. the mud has been washed. I knew it. i swear i knew it. it was feigned. Artificial feelings. manufactured feelings. And she fell for it. And she writhed, when he was unwrapping his 'parcel'. she writhed, when he was 'admiring' his gift. and he was done with it. He was fed up with it. he threw it. Again, i saw it. The tear. A swollen bit. Swollen and bitter. It came rolling, from her left eye. wetting the path it had taken. Wetting the sorrow. giving strength to those mixed feelings. how could he? I, see it. And then i tucked it somewhere in mine heart. so that i digested it. so that i learnt it. the flowers. The cards. The dinner. The wine. And before a day was wrapped, a soul was lost. a soul. A human soul. Sometimes i wonder how the spirits can pounce on one another. a blow upon a blow. And before they can know it, the damage has been done. Valentine. My heart registers these same feelings. sad feelings. For i know, a soul shall be lost. I am weary. For i know, I shall meet a soul. A soul wandering about. Lost. Disturbed. I sigh. A smile escapes my lips. Am almost certain. It is going to happen again. So unfortunate. THE VALENTINE.

TO YOU MY FUTURE VALENTINE(very interesting must read)

 

Today, is plainly the day for romance and love.

 Today, is another cards' flowers' candies' day.

 Today, is a day that friends and relatives show affections.

 But today, I want to talk to and with you. 

I don't want to send you a love message.

 I want to talk to and with you.

 

 Please, listen to me. Please, don't listen to these words. Please listen to me. 

Because it's only me talking with you now.

 I want to name you my Valentine today, you’re all I want now In you,

 I find pure joy and delight You may not give me everything,

 I mean everything I need But honestly,

 I’m happiest whenever you’re in sight and in my mind too

. I can never deny that think of you both night and day;

 I’m drawn to you in pure attraction both inside you and outside too

 When you’re not here and I mean right here, not even near here,

 I ache for you,

 I actually ache and crave for your fulfilling satisfaction.

 I can never deny too that I dreamed of love like this, and yet,

 I honestly never thought that I would capture it this way. The deep,

 exciting thrills we have had so far, 

It is this intoxicating bliss and pure joy that makes me you:

 My Future Valentine. I mean, My Future Lifetime Valentine. 

 So darling, please be my Valentine, and more; Be my life, 

my world, my all; Together we can be content, 

And share life’s pleasures, big and small. Yes, 

that is all I wanted to say. 

Happy Valentines Day. Happy Valentines Day.

 

 My Future Valentine. My Future Lifetime Valentine... 

 By

Bogonko Jr Benjamin

 

HANDBAG GONE IN SPLIT SECOND

 

Handbag gone in split seconds

Snatch theft is becoming a serious issue nowadays. Females are usually the victims of snatch-thief so be extra cautious with whatever you are carrying. I have witnessed ladies being snatched their handbags but never have I been a victim of such incidents or thought of ever being one. Life is full of incredible events and unexpected surprises that change our moods. And sometimes they can even shock us. Loosing your valuables to a stranger is very shocking,the snatching is a moral buster. Such people should burn in hell. My critics also falls on the owner as I perceive them to be lackadaisical in handling their belongings. At times I would assume such incidents as being extrinsic reinforcements to the owner to be more vigilant all the time as a city is filled with morons who are unhappy with life hence want to extend their miserable life to those who are contented and ecstatic with life.

I vividly recall a snatch incidence which occurred one evening around Muthurwa while in traffic jam in a local bus heading home from a long tiresome day.

”Hey,mwizi,mwizi,ameiba bag yangu(Hey,a thief has stolen my handbag)”shrieked a young lady in her mid twenties. Her piercing shrill cry caught the passengers attention. There was silence suddenly around us,as we saw the guy disappearing beyond the buildings. The missus whose handbag had gone in mil-seconds was crying as if the entire world, and all of its beauty, had come to an end. I pitied her and wished I could do something like a super hero and follow that contemptibly obnoxious person , return the bag to her hence saving the day and putting a smile back on this poor lady who was laden with grief and fear but that was liberal thinking. The passengers pantomimed different emotions regarding this incident. Some were encouraging but other were giving negative critics to the lady insinuating that she was reckless with her belongings. If only she had been alert she wouldn’t be in such situation. Humanity has different ways of expressing fear by criticizing a situation forgetting they might be victims of such later on.

A missus handbag is her mini-world. She moves around with her world in her hands. Women’s handbags certainly contain an odd mixture of things. There are two categories of object :things women consider essential (phone, keys, tissues, aspirin, makeup, wallet); and the rest, all the apparently useless treasures related to memorable events, emotions and superstition. Ladies throw things they don’t need in there and then forget about them. Some men say that if you need any scrap metals just ask the lady next to you and she will give it out. Hence the bag is reassuring that its to ready to cope with any eventuality. You can imagine someone taking away your min-world,depressing and daunting,right!! Mark you,a woman's handbag is a bit like a man's car: it corresponds to the image they wish to project.

Whoever said that you never know how it hurts until you experience it yourself,said it well and so true. I can affirm this when I lost my mini world: due to snatching,then I recalled the agony of the lady who had undergone similar incident.

I was done for the day,so I headed to the bus station, boarded the bus and decided to take a nap. I normally do naps in the buses while listening to music via my smart phone. This is therapeutic to me. Hardly had the bus left the station than this dishonest,greedy man snatch my hand bag from me. He stretched out an arm,opened the window in a second and grabbed hold of my handbag very tightly such that I could not armor it with my arms. split second, I saw his face - cruel, glaring eyes and menacing expression. My heart skipped a bit and the incidence hit me in my solar plexus as I watched helplessly the jerk of a man who has taken my mini-world from me disappearing beyond the buildings. I felt alone in this vast world.

A great pain welled up in me, I wept silently after the passenger stopped giving me their condolences as if I had lost an arm or an eye. I hated this soothing as I deeply know it was my lose not theirs and to them they really don’t care only pretense but I accepted their words with broad smile and reassured them am okay. Meanwhile some good citizen outside the bus tried to pursue the thief but he was never apprehended and I doubt I will ever see him again. However, I will never forget the menacing look he had given me.

This got me to thinking, I have lost lots of things. Most of my valuable , important document and identification. I cursed the worthless man,I hoped that he will never have peace and joy ever as he had inflicted pain in me. I accepted that the crowd ruling that criminals should be eliminated as they inflict pain to humanity who work day in day out so that they can flourish their mini-world. They are incurable optimist as they want to get results and wealth first by annihilating other peoples freedom. We are living in a world of peace and war:in war our handbags gone,wallets gone,even at times our wigs gone rendering one bald. This is not something to smile about. My understanding of freedom is doing what one loves be it stealing,so long as you don’t interfere with freedom of others. The archenemy of freedom is fear and this is what was left of me.




By
 Esther Wavinya

SELF-REALIZATION by Muia Dennis

I was born like any other child. Raised in the hardships of life. In one way or another I was forced to learn from the harsh experiences of life. Now I am a grown man. Beards cover my face, physical changes are evident since my childhood, a character of a noble man.
My parents were martinet. Staunch in all that pertained education. I made hay while the sun shined. Like the early bird I caught the worm. But then, that was not enough. A life was in for the awaiting. I geared up for the ride, tightened my seat belt, but all that stroke me was a series of epiphanies. My aerial thoughts consistently faced fierce turbulence.
My eyes brought light to my entire body, but the world was dark for the eyes. Gullibility, I betrayed my eyes and flesh. My life is in scuffle. Grieve is a persistent visitor in my heart. I am a slave of events. But then that's not how I want it. I must fight for my victory. I am a god of myself.
I am obliged to bury my old self. Ignite my eyes for the light, for light excels darkness. What benefits me to be a guest of the dark? What is it that contravenes my soul? Nothing shall make me a laugh of life. Change is all I need, for my rebirth. A new me, a light for the world. A point of reference, an icon for the city, a radiant star for the dark. For nothing is unachievable.
By
 

Muia Dennis

AN ESSAY ON THE ROLE OF THE WHITEMAN IN AFRICAN CIVILIZATION

‘Each person is in some way a secret from all others. We are made that way. When I come to the city at night, I know that each house holds a secret. Each room in each house holds a secret. And each person on earth hides in their heart at least one secret from everyone else, even to the one who is closest to them. People are not like books or bodies of water. You may read a page or two of a person, but they will close up long before you know all that is in them. The water that is in a person will freeze over before you can see all that hides under it. It is like part of every person is dead to others, and will never be known. My friend is dead, my neighbor is dead; the love of my love is dead, and in this am too dead to them. Is there anybody buried in this city that is harder for me to know now than are people who are still alive in it?’ in this statement, Charles dickens tries to explain the mysteries of human beings. I also carry this thought, knowing that not a human being in this world will ever be straight forward. There will never be any pure truth that will ever be told by a human mouth, because before the utterance of those words, they are always stored in the heart. In the heart, they are furnished to suit a particular circumstance. I therefore tend to think that not a poet; a historian, an artist or a writer has ever been absolutely sincere in his works.

A lot has been written about Africa in the past. A lot of theories have been developed to explain about the revolution of the black man. A lot has been said about the changes that the blackman’s society has undergone. A lot of terms have been coined. We have different perspectives to the same subject. We have both positive and negative stories about one subject. These stories do not develop themselves. They are developed by humans. And every human has his inclinations. Every man is either inclined to his thoughts or his emotions. Every kind of literature that exists is therefore inclined to one’s thoughts or emotions. Therefore, there will always be a hidden side of the story.

The picture that comes to your mind when you think of the black man in the 19^th century will always be fascinating. Every time I tend to think of this, a train of images follow suit. In my mind, I see a pathetic hut with smoke issuing from within, a child fouling in the bushes, and a man sleeping with goats and cattle in the same roof. My thoughts do not end there. I always have a way to shift in through time to the 21^st century. When I do so, am able to see a noble brick or stone walled house, a pit latrine, and a cow pen aside. And all this are owned by the Blackman. Could all this have been acquired without the intervention of the Whiteman?

In the 1800’s the white man looked beyond and saw a continent. A continent occupied by black men. He thought of it as the Dark Continent. The reason, whatever it is, satisfied him. It might have been due to the color of the skin, or the mode of life this man lived. Then, the Whiteman thought that the continent needed enlightenment. Then he set foot to this continent. What intrigued me is that the Whiteman fought against himself for this Dark Continent. Then, from this struggle for Africa, a term was coined; the scramble for Africa. I believe it is from this term where all sorts of theories about Africa developed. Africans are proud that their continent was worth a fight. They give several reasons. They say that it was due to its fertile soils and rich minerals that arouse greed in the Whiteman. I find it partially true.

It is true that the Whiteman drove the people out of their lands. He enslaved them and made them toil hard on pieces of land that had once belonged to them. That was the greed this man brought with him into the continent. The very same man brought a faith. He brought medicine. He brought clothes with him. He brought education with him. He built schools. He then let the Blackman access these. For it might have hurt him to see blackmen in animal hides. For those who argue that the African man should go back to his roots, he should begin by denouncing education. Isn’t it enough for the Blackman to live on oral narrations as the mode of education? Let the Blackman denounce medicine and hospitals. So that he can go back to his herbal concoction. Let the black man denounce clothes. So that he can go back to his animal hide. Then, he will have all the freedom to shout, from the top of his voice that the Whiteman is evil. He will then have the right to denounce the Whiteman. He will have the right to say that the Whiteman brought nothing but pain, sorrow and death.

The true fact is that the Blackman does not want to admit that he was backward. The Blackman thinks that by accepting the fact that the Whiteman brought him into a better world, he would be admitting defeat. To me, it is not true. The Blackman should not feel ashamed by admitting that he was backward. The Blackman should not restrain himself from giving credit to where it deserves. To me, I think that the Blackman should laugh and cry at the same time. Then, he would be in harmony with himself. He would even be more joyful by looking at the evolutionary steps his society has taken. He should look at his current self and manage to smile when he sees his quality of life. Diseases have been averted. He no longer sleeps with cows and goats. He no longer has to walk miles and miles bare footed. He no longer has to walk to the river for water. This is because the White man gave it to him. Of course, with a price.

Currently, almost the whole world population subscribes to Christian faith. The Blackman is included. It is very intriguing to see a Blackman erect a church and kneel down and afford to pray. I believe we all agree that faith is the basis of human life. When we believe in Christ who was hanged on a tree, we do not think of a Whiteman’s god. We believe in God. Why then, should we not thank those who introduced this to us?

When we gain the knowledge of writing, we always feel proud. When we argue with our fellows, quoting from books, we feel awesome. Why then, should we not give credit to where it deserves. Our lives are better than our great grandfathers. We should then stop whining and living in the past. It does not help.
By
  Oscar Shakespeare Ghitto

Love, A complex word( Interesting piece about love) Must read

Love is so many things, but in the physical sense its really hard to explain. Love simply conquers all. Love is different for everybody so I won’t ramble on. But love should be something you’ve never felt before. Ever. It’s a new exciting experience of joy and confidence.

An unconditional love though is the pure love most people seek. It’s when you are settled, comfortable and has seen the imperfection of the spouse and your partner and you are still very much happy in love. "I love you" are just words. Action speaks louder than words. At times I rate unconditional love as a myth since behind it we as human beings are naturally self biased hence deceitful as we have conditions only known by our hearts in relevance to the love we have for someone, and if the conditions are withdrawn our love becomes irrelevance. There is always one too many reasons why we choose someone.

Love is teamwork, It is a two way symmetrical not asymmetrical as it  can kill it slow by slow. When you are truly in love, you feel physical connection that you can’t see; it lingers between the two of you. There are typical butterflies and the feeling of your stomach flipping. Touching this person sends tingles through your bodies. You get huge swell of emotion when thinking about that special person. The feeling is amazing.

Making love when in love is the greatest feeling ever. There is no other way I can describe it other than feeling like your souls are entwined, you are one entity.

Love is much more than a risk. However it’s a risk that one can take, grip, fall and later crawls back when one overcomes the emotions and goes to the playing field again. Seeking love.

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you vulnerable. It opens up your heart and it means someone can get inside and mess you up. You build defense,you build a whole suit of armor so that nothing can hurt you, Then one trivial person, not different from any other stupid person, ramble into your naive life. You give them a piece of you.

They didn’t ask to come into your life they just did something which captured your attention, that smile, witty talk, that kiss, then your life isn’t yours anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside; it eats you out and leaves you crying in darkness.

You promise never to fall in love again but you know it more than me, it’s a force to reckon with, You meet this person who looks amazing and you give it a shot, this time wiser than before

 By

 Esther Wavinya