Weeping skies

Weep, skies!
Cry and wail,
Cover yourself in darkness,
Let the clouds hang low.
Scream, thunder!
Let the Sun hide his face,
Let him not rise from his
Bed in the West;
Let the stars be silent,
Let there be no twinkling;
A star is plucked out today
And a void is left
In the galaxy.

Weep, heavens!
Flood the earth with tears,
Your grief is inconsolable.
Let the Wind groan in agony,
Let him not keep silent,
Let his voice reverberate over a thousand miles;
Let the Moon bury his head in his chamber,
Let not his face be seen;
A star has fallen,
The world will no longer
Be the same again.

Only you

When I am alone,
You come to me in memories,
Curled next to me on the sofa,
Your scent filling me with longing,
Your hair tickles my chin,
Your warmth reaching into the
Innermost part of my heart,
Squeezing tears from my eyes.
You speak to me in the silence,
Whispering to me; your absence
Showing me just how much
I miss you and want you;
When I’m alone,
The truth comes to me:
I’ve never stopped loving you,
I’ve only learnt how to lie to myself
That I am happy without you;
I allow the noise of the company distract me from the ache;
When I am alone,
You come to me in the pain
And show me that you are the one
That I really want;
No one else makes me happy,
Only you.

Out of bounds

She struts, I gawk, every detail reaching my saucer sized eyes. Every smell titillating, stimulating my loins. I blink, swallow, shake my head and sigh. This is a dish I can’t taste.

The Wedding Advert

The bride gasped and gripped the groom’s arm, whose brows were creased in a frown as he watched the middle aged man walk down the aisle leisurely.

The bride’s mother was crying softly in the front pew and muttering about her enemies making a mockery of her on her happiest day.

Everybody waited for the man to give the reason why the couple could not be joined together.

“My name is Chukwudi” he said in a thick Ibo accent “I deal in female underwear and I just want to wish my very good customer a happy married life”

Last Meal

It is his last meal.

He doesn’t know. He stares wide eyed at the large bowl filled with semovita, his favorite dish and the plate of banga soup with an assortment of meat. Saliva pools in his mouth and threatens to overflow. His throat bobs as he swallows.

Minutes later, beads of sweat grace his brows as he leans back on the dinning chair, his abdomen several centimeters bigger in circumference. He licks his lips, closes his eyes and relish the memory of the sumptuous meal.

The clock chimes eight. It is time for Crime Scene Investigation, his favorite soap on TV.

He is unable to stand from the chair.

‘I must be too full’ he thinks, chuckling softly. ‘It seems my stomach capacity is reducing for this amount of food to knock me down’

He tries again.

‘Something is not right’ an alarm goes off in his head. ‘My feet looks like they are stuck!’

Panic rises to the surface and his eyes grow wide. 

‘I can’t move my legs’ his mind screams ‘I can’t move my hands too!’

He screams. What comes out is an inaudible gurgle.

‘What is happening to me? Wait a minute, why is my heart not beating fast? I am afraid, scared shitless but my heart is not racing!’

He moves to feel his heart beat, his hands remain fixed by his side. The room begins to fade too, and it becomes increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open.

Clarity comes and he welcomes it without fuss. ‘I am dying’

Breathing is difficult too, he notices.
Just before he passes out, a face looms over him, smiling down at him.

“Hope you enjoyed the meal dear?”

Her chuckle is the last sound he hears before the darkness envelopes him.