6 TH YEAR OF ZIMBABWE TALKS
AU election body : The elections were not free and fair.
AU, Egypt meeting : We all agree that the elections were not free and fair. We now beg his Excellency, comrade president Mugabe to form a government of national unity by engaging MDC within SADC negotiating framework with facilitation from president Mbeki
ONE MONTH LATER
Uncle Bob : what really worries you my prime minister
Chematama : A snare, I think a lovely snare. I can feel the signal
Uncle Bob : But you will be my prime minister
Chematama : With what powers?
Huyakwese : My friend, lets laugh whilst this lasts. Uncle Bob has been very generous to us, don’t you see that. You will be the prime minister, and I will be your vice prime minister with the home affairs portfolio. You don’t have to worry about uncle Bob but rather you should be wary of that old schemer, your other vice prime minister with the defence portfolio. That one is the real snake in the grass and I don’t want him in my council of ministers, infact our council of ministers. But let’s sign this deal before Uncle Bob changes his mind.
Chematama : Don’t you see young fool that it’s a trap, he has sweetened our cakes with stupid posts
Huyakwese : Then cut the cake and lets all celebrate my friend
Chematama : Let me go and think about it and consult with my party
( Chematama exit)
Uncle Bob : I have always told you that he is a sell-out. He is going to consult with that McGee ambassador
Mbeki : (addressing journalist). Our prime minister has asked for some time to consult. I have always told you the best solution would come from the Zimbabweans, and I expect a deal to be signed in the next 24 hours
Zimbabwean : When will they sign that bloody deal. We are so sick and tired of hearing these promises everyday
Zimbabwean : Lets give thanks to our African brother Thabo for he has done a great job to bring them to negotiations. Didn’t you see they even shook hands a couple of weeks ago.
Zimbabwean : What shaking hands! Mbeki is a traitor. He is the old boy’s friend and don’t expect any deal any sooner
Zimbabwean : I wonder where I could find food to eat today? I last ate three days ago. I wish Mad Bob, Chematama, and Huyakwese could be eaten
2 DAYS LATER
Vavi: SADC shouldn’t invite Mad Bob and that ladies lover kanga-man from that small kingdom country. We are going to strike like nobody has ever seen if these dictators come to their SADC talkathon thing. We are going to bring Johannesburg to a standstill.
Malema: Yes comrade! We will kill for Mugabe, but if that white kangaroo human rights organisation refuses us to kill for Mugabe then we might even kill for Mswati.
AT THE SADC MEETING
Mbeki : Gentleman and gentle ladies we have negotiated a settlement for Zimbabwe and what’s left is the signing ceremony. But I want to ask you fellow leaders to force Tsvangirai to sign it
( Mad Bob nodes his head and smiles in agreement with Mbeki).
SADC : You have got to sign this deal or else we wont allow you to stay in southern Africa, or even to visit our countries, infact we will deport you to Britain, like what old- man Mbeki is doing to your fellows here caught in this cyclone negrophobia thing.
Chematama : I will not sign unless if I am given significant executive powers to curb Mad Bob’s excessive irrationalities, and I also do not want to report to Mad Bob, but to parliament for starters.
(He leaves the meeting).
Huyakwese : He wants all the powers for himself so what power-sharing deal would that be if he takes all of good uncle Bob’s powers? Too bad I have to go back to Zimbabwe without anything but for him to take all of Uncle’s powers? No!
Mbeki : I thought he would be pressured to sign but it seems not. That’s the best deal I had negotiated from my best friend Mugabe, It was really a good beginning, but I have to start all over talking to that old wiser again, and its something I don’t want to do again. Tsvangirai should simply have signed, but, maybe he doesn’t know how to sign it, after all the fellow is not educated, but he signed that other hoodwink paper in Harare, didn’t he? The wine is wasting away in that beautiful Harare hotel where I have enjoyed spending the best part of this year in. Such a waste! But, of course----, let’s give him some time to reconsider.
Uncle Bob: Time is not what I have friend. Those Brishit browns and damn American bushes are pounding on my front door, back door, roof and all the windows and very soon they will take me to that damn American security council thing and their crime war court thing, you know!
Mbeki : Don’t worry my friend. Remember we still have our Russian and Chinese friends. You know that with Vietnam and that other poor African country, the five of us will block those imperialist British and Americans until god-knows when.
Uncle Bob : Thanks old boy. I will give you another farm next time you make your frequent visit to my beloved country. You know Zimbabwe is mine forever. I was given that country by our spirit mediums Mbuya Kaguvi and Sekuru Nehanda, no, no, it must be the other way round, that is Sekuru Kaguvi and Mbuya Nehanda. But my friend you can do that lie-thing of yours to those bastard brishit newsman over there. I wish Blair was still there. It had been so easier to out-fox him all these years because he talked too much and didn’t do anything of whatever he could have said. He is like those Blair toilets we have in my country. (They laugh). But with this Brown thing, I am so scared of him, and don’t you see that even the British themselves are as scared of him as I am. (He chuckles). And that warmongering son- of- a- bitch, “Shoes” Bush, noo, no, no ,no I don’t want him on my back, no my friend!
Mbeki : Don’t worry!(Addressing journalist). We will continue negotiating and a deal is very likely in the next day or so, and as I have always told you it must be Zimbabweans who should decide their destiny and the deal they want, so negotiations will be continuing.
Zimbabwean : So what does that mean?
Zimbabwean : I don’t know, maybe it means other 5 years with the old Mad Bob, again?
Zimbabwean : iiii,uhiii,uuu
Zimbabwean :
Friday, April 30, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
अक्टूबर moon
OCTOBER MOON
The October moon is on my door
Like a little ghost
Raw orange zest
And the chaff of the moon fills the valley
With its pale yellowish light
yellow flowers of light
And it’s melting slivers
breathing coolness
The slivers of the bright moon
rocks down the earth
With heat that is warm to touch
Its half rim like the distant fire
burning the horizons
Pushing night into dawn
Dawn into morning
The night’s eluding face
slipping away with a quite
Undressing the moon
Spherical arc in birth emerging naked
Naked and embarrassed
We might as well say we are
yellow-throated
In the moonlight’s pouring cornlight
Listening for our names
In a million-petalled slivers
of the moon’s being
Unbowed by life’s winds
The moon has pulled over us
like a Cyclops’s eye
In the long silence the moon is hiding.
The October moon is on my door
Like a little ghost
Raw orange zest
And the chaff of the moon fills the valley
With its pale yellowish light
yellow flowers of light
And it’s melting slivers
breathing coolness
The slivers of the bright moon
rocks down the earth
With heat that is warm to touch
Its half rim like the distant fire
burning the horizons
Pushing night into dawn
Dawn into morning
The night’s eluding face
slipping away with a quite
Undressing the moon
Spherical arc in birth emerging naked
Naked and embarrassed
We might as well say we are
yellow-throated
In the moonlight’s pouring cornlight
Listening for our names
In a million-petalled slivers
of the moon’s being
Unbowed by life’s winds
The moon has pulled over us
like a Cyclops’s eye
In the long silence the moon is hiding.
http://mwanakacreativewriter.blogspot.com/
शोर्ट बिओ DATA
I have had stories and poems published in USA, UK, Italy, South Africa, India, New Zealand, Australia, France, Spain and Canada, in 50 + among other journals, magazines and anthologies; Yellow medicine review, Phoenix review, Wordgathering, The Redwheelbarrow, Pomezia Notizie, Memoirjournal, PoetrySZ, Poetry institute of Africa, Westerly, Penine platform, Eildon tree, RKVRY, Beyond the rainbow, Off-the-coast, New contrast, Earls court, Magna and others. I have also won several prizes and this manuscript was also short listed for the Erberce poetry prize(2009), niminated for a pushcart 2008, and a book of short stories dealing with Zimbabwe 's political situation, MAD BOB REPUBLIC-ECHOES OF AN UNFINISHED CIRCLE, will be published by Lionpress Ltd( UK ), and a book of poems, VOICES IN EXILE, will be published in August by Lapwing poetry, Northern ireland in august 2010
I am a 36 year old man, single, and a full time writer. I write a lot of poems, so also stories, essays, articles, plays, and I am working on a full length novel. Lately I have also been working on as a singer/songwriter. I did my primary, secondary, and high school in Nyanga, Nyatate area and stayed in Mapfurira village in the eastern highlands of Zimbabwe up until 1994. From 1994 to 2008 I stayed in Chitungwiza, south of Harare where I was a security guard, a general hand, tea maker and eventually a vehicle sales administrator at a famous Harare motor vehicle sales dealer. I have a diploma in marketing and I am also a graduate member of the Southern African institute of marketing. I left Zimbabwe in 2008 for South Africa and I have been staying here in Johannesburg and I would say "writing myself to such a standstill!"
I have had stories and poems published in USA, UK, Italy, South Africa, India, New Zealand, Australia, France, Spain and Canada, in 50 + among other journals, magazines and anthologies; Yellow medicine review, Phoenix review, Wordgathering, The Redwheelbarrow, Pomezia Notizie, Memoirjournal, PoetrySZ, Poetry institute of Africa, Westerly, Penine platform, Eildon tree, RKVRY, Beyond the rainbow, Off-the-coast, New contrast, Earls court, Magna and others. I have also won several prizes and this manuscript was also short listed for the Erberce poetry prize(2009), niminated for a pushcart 2008, and a book of short stories dealing with Zimbabwe 's political situation, MAD BOB REPUBLIC-ECHOES OF AN UNFINISHED CIRCLE, will be published by Lionpress Ltd( UK ), and a book of poems, VOICES IN EXILE, will be published in August by Lapwing poetry, Northern ireland in august 2010
I am a 36 year old man, single, and a full time writer. I write a lot of poems, so also stories, essays, articles, plays, and I am working on a full length novel. Lately I have also been working on as a singer/songwriter. I did my primary, secondary, and high school in Nyanga, Nyatate area and stayed in Mapfurira village in the eastern highlands of Zimbabwe up until 1994. From 1994 to 2008 I stayed in Chitungwiza, south of Harare where I was a security guard, a general hand, tea maker and eventually a vehicle sales administrator at a famous Harare motor vehicle sales dealer. I have a diploma in marketing and I am also a graduate member of the Southern African institute of marketing. I left Zimbabwe in 2008 for South Africa and I have been staying here in Johannesburg and I would say "writing myself to such a standstill!"
Saturday, April 10, 2010
उनिटी government
UNITY GOVERNMENT
Unity government is a watercolour government
It is a government that’s home to
Ministers and ministries without power
Like coded storylines of untested identity
Within the within is the same, only smaller here
It is its absolute refusal to doubt itself
That hustles us along to our hazardous fringes
Little by little, the big black lies
Strangling the music of our hopes
It is the oppressor’s music ruminating in
The vestiges of our now clogged minds
Stories of false hope bound together
In stoic controversies and contradictions
By two actors seeking out unearned recognition
Leading us astray is this liberal hypocrisy
Just a dialectical change
Hope in Zimbabwe is knit with lives lost
And plaited into a pattern of suffering
Hope afraid of unbraiding the past
Waits for others to undo the knots
The unmaking of our old pains
Whose intricate designs and clever joints
We have mistakenly re-knotted again
Hope acts the fool here, don’t see
Or we don’t want to believe what we are seeing
In Harare north, they still swim in harmless pools
Designing for our dreams
We swim in hunger drenched streets of Chitungwiza
Here they only listen for our voices of dissent
For if they hear us they would kill us with their guns
So we now talk silently like the empty skies
Our very bones hears the sounds of our silent weeping
Each night the empty plates from which we eat
Will be the fields from which you will harvest
New harvests without the words “silent diplomacy.”
And at night we crash into nightmares, thinking
That this deck of misfortune that we have re-created
Would keep shoving us to keep fighting
For the horizons are still ours
But we wish the sun would soften a thousand times over
Unity government is just what it is
Or pieces of what it should be
It is the way you live within it
That makes it unworkable for you
As if it’s a map you can read only once
But feel like you have read it many times
Because you cannot forget it
Whether you want to, or not
It is stinking masks of skeletons full of odour
It is a street-named “government of national unity.”
On a broken down stage called “Zimbabwe.”
It is like bits of old jokes without the laughter
But snarls like jumbled half-bars of remembered music
It is just an illusion, a dilution process
So let’s not shift our minds in reverse
Let’s not fall prey to this new resurrection
A master’s rendition, a repetition of 1987
Just another history waiting to be re-written
Through another trough of empty spaces of time.
Unity government is a watercolour government
It is a government that’s home to
Ministers and ministries without power
Like coded storylines of untested identity
Within the within is the same, only smaller here
It is its absolute refusal to doubt itself
That hustles us along to our hazardous fringes
Little by little, the big black lies
Strangling the music of our hopes
It is the oppressor’s music ruminating in
The vestiges of our now clogged minds
Stories of false hope bound together
In stoic controversies and contradictions
By two actors seeking out unearned recognition
Leading us astray is this liberal hypocrisy
Just a dialectical change
Hope in Zimbabwe is knit with lives lost
And plaited into a pattern of suffering
Hope afraid of unbraiding the past
Waits for others to undo the knots
The unmaking of our old pains
Whose intricate designs and clever joints
We have mistakenly re-knotted again
Hope acts the fool here, don’t see
Or we don’t want to believe what we are seeing
In Harare north, they still swim in harmless pools
Designing for our dreams
We swim in hunger drenched streets of Chitungwiza
Here they only listen for our voices of dissent
For if they hear us they would kill us with their guns
So we now talk silently like the empty skies
Our very bones hears the sounds of our silent weeping
Each night the empty plates from which we eat
Will be the fields from which you will harvest
New harvests without the words “silent diplomacy.”
And at night we crash into nightmares, thinking
That this deck of misfortune that we have re-created
Would keep shoving us to keep fighting
For the horizons are still ours
But we wish the sun would soften a thousand times over
Unity government is just what it is
Or pieces of what it should be
It is the way you live within it
That makes it unworkable for you
As if it’s a map you can read only once
But feel like you have read it many times
Because you cannot forget it
Whether you want to, or not
It is stinking masks of skeletons full of odour
It is a street-named “government of national unity.”
On a broken down stage called “Zimbabwe.”
It is like bits of old jokes without the laughter
But snarls like jumbled half-bars of remembered music
It is just an illusion, a dilution process
So let’s not shift our minds in reverse
Let’s not fall prey to this new resurrection
A master’s rendition, a repetition of 1987
Just another history waiting to be re-written
Through another trough of empty spaces of time.
Friday, April 9, 2010
links
thepotomacjournal.com/issue9/tendai_mwanaka.html
www.winningwriters.com/resources/critiques/2007/urc_0710mwanaka.php
www.itch.co.za/?article=17
elevenelevenjournal.com/Poetry/tendai_mwanaka.html
www.languageandculture.net/gallery-summer-fall-2008.html
www.sapc.edu/sapress/carin.php
memoirjournal.squarespace.com/subscribe
www.winningwriters.com/resources/critiques/2007/urc_0710mwanaka.php
www.itch.co.za/?article=17
elevenelevenjournal.com/Poetry/tendai_mwanaka.html
www.languageandculture.net/gallery-summer-fall-2008.html
www.sapc.edu/sapress/carin.php
memoirjournal.squarespace.com/subscribe
शोर्ट बिओ DATA
CURRICULUM VITAE
TENDAI RINOS MWANAKA
24 Svosve road Zengeza 1 Chitungwiza, Zimbabwe. Tel 00263777916113
Email: mwanaka@yahoo.com or mwanaka13@gmail.com
Personal Details
Nationality Zimbabwean
Date of Birth 13 July 1973
Sex Male
Marital Status Single
Languages English, Shona and Ndebele
ID Number 34-054889-H-34
Most Important Publications-Exhibitions-Performances of the last 5 years
Voices from exile, a collection of poetry on Zimbabwe’s political situation and exile in South Africa was published by Lapwing publications, Northern Ireland in 2010. Keys in the river, a collection of young adult love stories will be published by Savant books, USA in march 2012. I have won several prizes. Logbook written by a drifter, and Voices from exile were both short listed by the Erbecce press poetry prize in 2011, and 2009 respectively, I have been nominated for the pushcart twice, 2008, 2010, commended for the Dalro prize 2008. I have published over 150 pieces of short stories, essays, memoirs, poems and visual art in over 100 magazines, journals, anthologies and websites in the following countries, the USA , UK , Canada , South Africa, Zimbabwe, India , Italy , France , Spain , Cyprus, Australia and New Zealand . Below is the extended list of magazines I have published in, both print and internet magazines ( internet magazines are italics). I am also a songwriter.
USA
Poor magazine, Mobius poetry magazine, Wordgathering, Language and culture, Kota journal, Banwood, Poets.com, Poets.com anthology “Immortal voices”, Noble house anthology, The Potomac journal for poetry and politics, Riversedge, CAIRNS, Beatlick,Winningwriters, Yellow medicine review, Shemom, Off the coast, Memoir and, Dwane, Write me a metaphor, Children, churches and daddies and anthologies, Pacific journal, Eleven eleven journal, RKVRY, Bayou review, Struggle magazine, Letterfounder, Praire wolf press.
UK
Decanto, The Phoenix review poetry magazine, Gold dust, Eireings, Poetrylifeandtimes, Poetrymonthlyinternational, Dawntreader, Numinous spiritual magazine, Presford, Inclement, Neverbuy, Exiled ink magazine, Indigodreams anthology “About last night”, Pennine platform, The red wheelbarrow, Windows project, The Eildon tree, The Delinquent, Essence magazine, Neonhighway
SOUTHERN AFRICA
Newcoin, New contrast, Poetry institute of Africa, Christian poetry anthologies, Itch, Storytime, Poems for Haiti anthology, A Hudson view
AUSTRALIA
Beyond the rainbow, Idiom 123, Curious record, LINQ, Sonnet art, Westerly
CANADA
Earlscourt, Nashwaak, Message in a bottle, Tainted love poems, Poetrysoulasylum, Challenger.
ITALY
Pomezia notizie, Lunar stars and feelings
FRANCE
MGversion
INDIA
Kritya
NEWZEALAND
Poetry SZ
SPAIN
Parrebesso
CYPRUS
SCWI journal
PERSONAL BLOGS
Mwanakacreativewritter.blogspot.com, Facebook profile, twitter, myspace, Bookrix, Victory website, Desi poems, ccpoets
OTHER ATTRIBUTES
1 Hardworking, intelligent and an ability to learn and adapt quickly
2 Highly motivated, positive
3 Can perform to the very best under difficult circumstances
References
Mr D Grieg
LAPWING PUBLICATIONS
c/o ballysillan drive
Belfast BT4 8HQ
UK
EMAIL. lapwing.poetry@ntlworld.com
Mr Daniel Janiek
Savant books and publications
2630 kapiolani Blvd 1601
Honolulu, HI 96826
USA
Email: savantbooks@gmail.com
Hugh Hodge
New contrast
C/o South African literary journal
P.O box 44844
Claremont 7735
Cape Town, South Africa
EMAIL. newcontrasted@newcontrast.com
थे सुन एक्सिस्ट इन ITSELF
THE SUN EXIST IN ITSELF
I take up my subject and let it be--, about religion, and they say, is he capable?
Then my mouth opens up awareness, cursing backwards to a time lost in mystery,
a time without parallels, invoking the licence to dream!
Peering down---down---down, I see people with layers, free-verse eyes in their faces
and I feel so lonely, I cannot pray.
Praying like prayer is a demand for pity in the power of desperation.
Like giving death-waters to death.
Religions like individuals wreck from within and some live lives like mayflies.
I can see their ending in ice but not soon enough as I endure it.
How I hate ice: My body frozen!
I want you to look into this horror---That you are seeing now, without seeing it
or knowing it and if I could, I would shed tears and consider this wish as an act.
This wish would become a miracle and you are as great as any miracle
that you can think of because you speak with your own life.
Speaking directly into your senses, speaking things not cast in words because
you do not need words.
And if I choose good does that make you bad and if you choose bad-
Does that make me good?
Must we always judge: Must we always seek forgiveness?
The sun exists in itself!
When you behold a rainbow what colour do you like most?
Do you think all the other colours would die for want of the colour that you have chosen?
dying like when a thing vanishes and leaves no shadows.
But I can see their shadows and I can see them walking silently and I can feel----
The sour colours of their fears driving inside me like hungry pains, like minutiae of an angry humanity.
Hungry for lost infinity!
But we still carry the detritus with us because we did not separate, scatter out at night, this night-
Or another; Time did not stop for us.
We had the choice everyone has:
To die now or to die later---.
Now live where the fear of being--- and the love of being resides in rooms next to each other.
Now live where the courage of love--- and the faith in life resides in a time that changes the past.
Now live for the quality of activity.
For you are a seed blown in yesterday’s winds and you would be tomorrow’s plume tree.
Where the nightingale nestles its cares, its feathers, its eggs.
And I feel the satellites of my life-Instruments which plays music;
warming, cooling, addressing. My fears, my angers, my memories.
Memories of myself uncovering the holy city that I see in distances.
So beautiful in the morning light!
And I was like that city once but it was in another life.
In another lifetime---A lifetime which does not have ties with time.
A lifetime that dissolves with contact.
I take up my subject and let it be--, about religion, and they say, is he capable?
Then my mouth opens up awareness, cursing backwards to a time lost in mystery,
a time without parallels, invoking the licence to dream!
Peering down---down---down, I see people with layers, free-verse eyes in their faces
and I feel so lonely, I cannot pray.
Praying like prayer is a demand for pity in the power of desperation.
Like giving death-waters to death.
Religions like individuals wreck from within and some live lives like mayflies.
I can see their ending in ice but not soon enough as I endure it.
How I hate ice: My body frozen!
I want you to look into this horror---That you are seeing now, without seeing it
or knowing it and if I could, I would shed tears and consider this wish as an act.
This wish would become a miracle and you are as great as any miracle
that you can think of because you speak with your own life.
Speaking directly into your senses, speaking things not cast in words because
you do not need words.
And if I choose good does that make you bad and if you choose bad-
Does that make me good?
Must we always judge: Must we always seek forgiveness?
The sun exists in itself!
When you behold a rainbow what colour do you like most?
Do you think all the other colours would die for want of the colour that you have chosen?
dying like when a thing vanishes and leaves no shadows.
But I can see their shadows and I can see them walking silently and I can feel----
The sour colours of their fears driving inside me like hungry pains, like minutiae of an angry humanity.
Hungry for lost infinity!
But we still carry the detritus with us because we did not separate, scatter out at night, this night-
Or another; Time did not stop for us.
We had the choice everyone has:
To die now or to die later---.
Now live where the fear of being--- and the love of being resides in rooms next to each other.
Now live where the courage of love--- and the faith in life resides in a time that changes the past.
Now live for the quality of activity.
For you are a seed blown in yesterday’s winds and you would be tomorrow’s plume tree.
Where the nightingale nestles its cares, its feathers, its eggs.
And I feel the satellites of my life-Instruments which plays music;
warming, cooling, addressing. My fears, my angers, my memories.
Memories of myself uncovering the holy city that I see in distances.
So beautiful in the morning light!
And I was like that city once but it was in another life.
In another lifetime---A lifetime which does not have ties with time.
A lifetime that dissolves with contact.
इ ऍम सो सर्री-इ ऍम नो BULLETPROOF
I AM SO SORRY: I AM NOW BULLET-PROOF
Why did I say those words?
Why did I tell her that it was over between us?
Pulling each of these syllables like as if I was pulling each and every one of the rose’s blossoms and the unfortunate thing was that she had over-lived a definite six months in my life but an unwritten life at that.
Celine, and that was her name and nineteen eighty-nine that was the year and she was my first cut into the treacle world of relationships.
During our form fours at Nyatate secondary school.
We were so much in love!
My adoration for her was like dentistry; she stilled the bombastic, and heartened my heart with a love like a map to a new country.
That’s how I thought of her and felt about it all and she was small and fragile and light in complexion and she came from an adjacent village to ours.
She was true, good, faithful and loved me good!
She was warm, balm, and benediction and loved me with a love so searing, so brave, and so honest. She was each note, tune and every sweet sound in my heart and her love was a tracing around my heart and since praise is a language too difficult to separate from love and when Owls hoot we call this hooting a call for forthcoming grief, I still feel it’s a call for love, and I also felt I loved her but the unfortunate thing was that I had also learned how to speak of love in place and think it was the thing that was in my heart.
When you are in love and closer to your girl, she would try to transmute you to a molecular level, but something must have changed over the time we were in love. Something just didn’t make sense somehow. Sometimes she wanted me to be soft, and sometimes she wanted me to be hard in ways that I didn’t know how to be.
I also knew I could snap easily and drastically to the first sign of contamination
But something must have been telling me that it was time that I move on.
It was like a sensation like something had crossed the river with me, or was this my ego running ahead of this time or I simply had a heart like a squatter camp.
But what was that something?
Did I feel dissatisfied with her? Did I feel undeserving of her love? Was it something said, done? Did it have anything to do with something I can’t really express, something unfathomable yet it had been so instrumental in making me feel the way that I did?
Can I say something to pacify myself of the blame? What can I do to undo the wrong that I might have done her? Can I go all the way back correcting that wrong?
Every relationship is like a window, framed and contained, with its fixed view.
And it all depends on what gives you pleasure, that is if you like to look in through the windows or out through the same windows, that is, looking in through the relationship or out through that same relationship.
I have come to realise that I liked both ways of looking at it.
Once a relationship is over I have liked to look in through that relationship so also out through that relationship so that I would see whether there was still something in or out of that relationship for me.
Even if it seemed like it was some months and a lot of things could have changed between us, but I did go back on that relationship, some five or so months after we had disbanded it and I discovered that what was inside and outside of that relationship couldn’t suffice enough anymore for me, and that her love no longer lied inside those windows and I also made a resolve never to return back to what no longer was mine anymore.
Ok, call it whatever you want to but that’s what I did and was it because I am unlovable, empty and a fantasizer?
Someone must have said those words or they could simply have happened in my mind and I also remember what her younger sister said to me.
That Celine had loved me so much but that I had been a pain-some bastard and that they now view me with so much contempt, that I felt I personally do deserved it.
But I was surprised that that sister of hers accepted my date ever afterwards, though she later on told me she wanted to hurt me the way that I had hurt her sister, and she sure took all the pleasures in making my world such a hell-hole.
This girl hatched for a vengeful relationship straight away and like the sucker for trouble that I have always been I fell badly in love with her. With this one I went all the way like as if I was trying to atone for the wrong that I had done her sister and she liked it, and she became a woman insane, murdering me every moment she could.
She knew everything about me but she still did not show desire to meet me across this bridge I was trying to built as if she was waiting to find something else more about me that she hadn’t known about.
I entered this corner knowingly and its corners that I am now scared of ever-after this. I would rather have them planned and straightened, not curvy, before I enter them afterwards.
But all that I could do then was to push the boat far outer for her.
She became the fist woman to break my heart and I remember the waste of pain that comes with the breakdown of a relationship and loss loomed big like the sun eclipsed by the moon and for years after that it seemed to me like as if there was nothing after that first heartbreak and love.
But from that moment onwards I had started to cut sorrows like shaping a shape that I had learned without knowing it.
It became like you could only watch them, one girl after another, coming into your life and getting carried away by some forces you do not understand and to remember their names becomes difficult for their names would be like names of a crash-test, dummies without nuances or meaning. Entropy would always topple them into fallen beauty.
But I had nothing to apologise to them, neither to her, and very little to her sister because I had been true to myself and that’s what everyone else failed to really understand about it all.
That I shouldn’t have faked on the way that I felt because in the long run it could have helped no one.
But I am now trying to listen to these words and all that I hear in these words are the sounds of the stones that I have struck up in my pathways, now yielding sweet-drink memories.
And I know memories selects its own material like some distant editor would read this story and feel she should cut quite a lot of this crap to make this story appeal to a wider readership, but I won’t stop inventing remembering here if I am going to tell this story of my love of Celine and of her sister Angela, and of what a verdant field our youths are for writing, ruminating, pleasure and pain.
One of my best friend openly told me that I didn’t know what I wanted in life; maybe that I didn’t know what I wanted in love could have been a better summation, that is, in people loving according to the ancient measure, but was he correct?
I could have told my friend that I had known when to accept that limit and that one day I would go beyond it.
I had known what to do then and I also know that I could love someone someday, any day I feel like it, that I am waiting for someone, not that I know her name, yet.
He tells me its all part and parcel of my not knowing what I want in life and I am not trying to excuse myself of the wrong I did to her.
I am saying that’s what I wanted to do and I don’t regret the decision that I took because its how I felt but.
I am saying that I now know that I should live with my heart open to embrace those that I don’t remember anymore and those that nobody remembers anymore and I am also saying that now I breathe with the knowledge that the moment you hold them in your heart is always enough to sustain your heart and mind in the future, but I am also saying.
“I am so sorry.”
I have become the bigger person here.
I have managed to open up these memories and enfold them into paper here, these memories shifting into shapes on a piece of paper.
Burn this paper if you want to, you also burn these memories, but I don’t care anymore because I am now bullet proof.
Why did I say those words?
Why did I tell her that it was over between us?
Pulling each of these syllables like as if I was pulling each and every one of the rose’s blossoms and the unfortunate thing was that she had over-lived a definite six months in my life but an unwritten life at that.
Celine, and that was her name and nineteen eighty-nine that was the year and she was my first cut into the treacle world of relationships.
During our form fours at Nyatate secondary school.
We were so much in love!
My adoration for her was like dentistry; she stilled the bombastic, and heartened my heart with a love like a map to a new country.
That’s how I thought of her and felt about it all and she was small and fragile and light in complexion and she came from an adjacent village to ours.
She was true, good, faithful and loved me good!
She was warm, balm, and benediction and loved me with a love so searing, so brave, and so honest. She was each note, tune and every sweet sound in my heart and her love was a tracing around my heart and since praise is a language too difficult to separate from love and when Owls hoot we call this hooting a call for forthcoming grief, I still feel it’s a call for love, and I also felt I loved her but the unfortunate thing was that I had also learned how to speak of love in place and think it was the thing that was in my heart.
When you are in love and closer to your girl, she would try to transmute you to a molecular level, but something must have changed over the time we were in love. Something just didn’t make sense somehow. Sometimes she wanted me to be soft, and sometimes she wanted me to be hard in ways that I didn’t know how to be.
I also knew I could snap easily and drastically to the first sign of contamination
But something must have been telling me that it was time that I move on.
It was like a sensation like something had crossed the river with me, or was this my ego running ahead of this time or I simply had a heart like a squatter camp.
But what was that something?
Did I feel dissatisfied with her? Did I feel undeserving of her love? Was it something said, done? Did it have anything to do with something I can’t really express, something unfathomable yet it had been so instrumental in making me feel the way that I did?
Can I say something to pacify myself of the blame? What can I do to undo the wrong that I might have done her? Can I go all the way back correcting that wrong?
Every relationship is like a window, framed and contained, with its fixed view.
And it all depends on what gives you pleasure, that is if you like to look in through the windows or out through the same windows, that is, looking in through the relationship or out through that same relationship.
I have come to realise that I liked both ways of looking at it.
Once a relationship is over I have liked to look in through that relationship so also out through that relationship so that I would see whether there was still something in or out of that relationship for me.
Even if it seemed like it was some months and a lot of things could have changed between us, but I did go back on that relationship, some five or so months after we had disbanded it and I discovered that what was inside and outside of that relationship couldn’t suffice enough anymore for me, and that her love no longer lied inside those windows and I also made a resolve never to return back to what no longer was mine anymore.
Ok, call it whatever you want to but that’s what I did and was it because I am unlovable, empty and a fantasizer?
Someone must have said those words or they could simply have happened in my mind and I also remember what her younger sister said to me.
That Celine had loved me so much but that I had been a pain-some bastard and that they now view me with so much contempt, that I felt I personally do deserved it.
But I was surprised that that sister of hers accepted my date ever afterwards, though she later on told me she wanted to hurt me the way that I had hurt her sister, and she sure took all the pleasures in making my world such a hell-hole.
This girl hatched for a vengeful relationship straight away and like the sucker for trouble that I have always been I fell badly in love with her. With this one I went all the way like as if I was trying to atone for the wrong that I had done her sister and she liked it, and she became a woman insane, murdering me every moment she could.
She knew everything about me but she still did not show desire to meet me across this bridge I was trying to built as if she was waiting to find something else more about me that she hadn’t known about.
I entered this corner knowingly and its corners that I am now scared of ever-after this. I would rather have them planned and straightened, not curvy, before I enter them afterwards.
But all that I could do then was to push the boat far outer for her.
She became the fist woman to break my heart and I remember the waste of pain that comes with the breakdown of a relationship and loss loomed big like the sun eclipsed by the moon and for years after that it seemed to me like as if there was nothing after that first heartbreak and love.
But from that moment onwards I had started to cut sorrows like shaping a shape that I had learned without knowing it.
It became like you could only watch them, one girl after another, coming into your life and getting carried away by some forces you do not understand and to remember their names becomes difficult for their names would be like names of a crash-test, dummies without nuances or meaning. Entropy would always topple them into fallen beauty.
But I had nothing to apologise to them, neither to her, and very little to her sister because I had been true to myself and that’s what everyone else failed to really understand about it all.
That I shouldn’t have faked on the way that I felt because in the long run it could have helped no one.
But I am now trying to listen to these words and all that I hear in these words are the sounds of the stones that I have struck up in my pathways, now yielding sweet-drink memories.
And I know memories selects its own material like some distant editor would read this story and feel she should cut quite a lot of this crap to make this story appeal to a wider readership, but I won’t stop inventing remembering here if I am going to tell this story of my love of Celine and of her sister Angela, and of what a verdant field our youths are for writing, ruminating, pleasure and pain.
One of my best friend openly told me that I didn’t know what I wanted in life; maybe that I didn’t know what I wanted in love could have been a better summation, that is, in people loving according to the ancient measure, but was he correct?
I could have told my friend that I had known when to accept that limit and that one day I would go beyond it.
I had known what to do then and I also know that I could love someone someday, any day I feel like it, that I am waiting for someone, not that I know her name, yet.
He tells me its all part and parcel of my not knowing what I want in life and I am not trying to excuse myself of the wrong I did to her.
I am saying that’s what I wanted to do and I don’t regret the decision that I took because its how I felt but.
I am saying that I now know that I should live with my heart open to embrace those that I don’t remember anymore and those that nobody remembers anymore and I am also saying that now I breathe with the knowledge that the moment you hold them in your heart is always enough to sustain your heart and mind in the future, but I am also saying.
“I am so sorry.”
I have become the bigger person here.
I have managed to open up these memories and enfold them into paper here, these memories shifting into shapes on a piece of paper.
Burn this paper if you want to, you also burn these memories, but I don’t care anymore because I am now bullet proof.
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