Hello Son Just when I poured a cup of hot coffee this morning, my mind clang on a very dark room clouded with snaky patterns, in circle, roving around the house, somehow even crawling towards me. Some of this smoke leaned on the ceiling in success somehow it licked out of tiny twinkling whole. It appeared that; I couldn’t grasp much out this of as I swiftly drift my thought, the fellow movement of the smoke paired for a moment with my intellect but, few meanings came without a worship, just to try to make sense of what I have envisioned. I stirred over and over until suffered a sudden drowsiness and exhaustion. Perhaps it was one of those day dreams which made no sense but, to some people it may have meaning of something, some king of a sign of success, or a simple illusion, some person may go to consult from a seer just so they may unlock the void, as I’ve perceived it. Perhaps in my soul there was a living person in a meaning of some sort of a vision but, not quite clear, according to my imaginary estimation. I couldn’t measure any of this or sacred it to a space where I may think about it more than once. But the will of power to enable to elaborate the un-canny of it, will allow me to epicure the quality of fine breeding, the exact bit of that awareness. All that domineer emanated the power to amount the energy and thoughts which will not spoil the ultimate of what is the mere energy of this glare brought on a day of my birthday 10th June. |
At the beginning of every afternoon, my back pack is stacked; coffee bottle, jam sandwich, torch, a handbook, pen, mint sweet to keep my soul merry and at ease. My uniform looks lean and clean, I wonder what my wife does to it? always new, from print to print, detail to detail. Then my boots, shinny as the glister of a babe tear, they carry me ten kilometers from the south to the dungeons of the west. Oh! To the West, here I come. Passing horrendous mountains of wintry shadows at their greatest heights, so much as the dream i had the previous sleepless night where my last born wailed like hyaena seeing a piece of raw goulush. But I'm heading West, where I get to guard a family that dreams as much as my own, only the stupified label and class that segrigates the indigenous ness of our identity. I'll be standing at the gate like a purpose-less poser hoping to snatch the hoodlums of Rose bank suburb. I don't get it. I stay in the projects where police force seldom respond to the emergencies, no high fence, no dog, no gun, just a piece of table knife to protect my two angels in case the bastards turn to lose their sympathy from the deadly poison they sneef like dogs in the air. But I'm heading West. Where I guard a family that knew less about the price of a gallon of milk, I'll walk with my music on my ears when these birds tweet and fly flip-flap far towards the heavens before God's eyes. The unending melody may take to the gate unforeseen that I have arrived at the gate of life and death. No gun, no stick, no spray gun, not even my table knife to scare these loggerheads. But I'm going there so my family can sleep in peace with their stomachs tumbling up n down in joy and faith to dream endlessly again. |