The Road Trip

To see the world, you have to travel.
& friends make the memories
last a little bit longer.
Last weekend, we embarked  on a road trip.
Me and three of my friends.
Fun people, beautiful souls.
I was behind the wheel
and the wheel felt the love in my hands.
The wheels felt the burnt tarmac
and they seemed to be in a fellowship.
The engine roared and we took off, we soared.
Slowly, through the streets with our woes.
We were going to forget them soon.
I maneuvered around the lights
and we found ourselves on the gracious highway.
Driving through the highways of Atlanta
was overwhelmingly dazzling.
The sun was out
and the green in the trees was striking.
The top was down and the breeze
caressed our faces
leaving us lost in high spirits.
All these cars speeding alongside ours;
where were they going?
Were they on a road trip too?
Nobody knows.
I pulled into a gas station,
several miles away from the high way.
It was the closest one the GPS could find.
It was in an isolated town
and there seemed to be no owner.
I had worked at a service store before
so I knew how to tilt the levels to our favor.
With a full tank,
we headed to the closest liquor store.
My friends thought it better
to stock well before we got crazier ideas.
The day was still young and unmotivated.
It seemed we were up to mischief,
weekend shenanigans.
On our way back, to be honest,
I was a bit tipsy.
Everyone else was drunk to their bones, wasted.
The music was bumping loudly
and we stole a couple of glances, here and there.
We stopped about three times
to drink some more and to stretch and dance.
Dusk was falling rapidly
and I could see the lights blaze in the dusking sky.
Glorious evenings.
I suggested we should get back going
and we hit the road again.
There was too many thoughts
paragliding through my head.
It felt like a floating hot-air balloon
which was having too much hot air blowing into it.
I had caught fire, my arms were trembling!

I was uneasy in my seat and palms of sweat

trickled down my forehead.

I had done this before, I reminded myself.

I tried making jokes to regain my mind,

and would occasionally 

turn back to ask everyone the usual;

"Are we all okay?"  "Had fun?" haha
and as I turned back to face the road,
time froze.
I felt as if I was trapped in a vacuum
and running quickly out of oxygen.
My senses were numb,
mind flashing back years like I was watching a trailer. A fun trailer though.
The brakes were too far for my foot
and the gas pedal was still firmly pressed to the ground.
Everything gave way and
the red light I had missed
flashed into my soul as I heard the impact.
I saw the car crash from the side
and the pieces kept coming at me.
The truck had smashed right into the side
of the car and in seconds,
I felt torn into pieces and dismantled.

Lost.
Intense pain and then silence.
I was in a dark place all of a sudden.
The lights dimmed and I felt for nothing.
My senses were gone and I knew I had left.
I was driving no more,
I was drunk no more.
I was alive no more.

p.s: I still don't know if my friends survived. Please let me know if you run into them before I do. I owe them an apology.

The wars we won

My Lord, O King,
if you were to weep today;
weep not for the bitter storms at sea,
weep not for the vengeful warriors from the North,
weep not for the meager harvests,
nor for the scorching sun..
weep not for the flooding rivers
and unexpected flaws in nature we face.
Weep, however, for the wars we have won.
Yes. They demand your tears and
wishless remorse.
They demand you to strip off your robes
and walk in ashy and tattered sacks.
Let your strong hair be covered grey
and heart painted sad.
Let your cries be heard in the gates
and far into the marketplace.
Let the children hear their King cry,
their brave stronghold wail.
They demand you to beat your chest,
this time, in shame and disgust.,
because we could wish we had not.
The wars we won outstripped us.
They left us dazed and stupefied.
They left us feeling untouchable,
invincible.
They left us frenzied and drowning in liquor.
The guards were in merry and
our gates remained unprotected.
The wars we won.
We wanted more. We wished to conquer.
We felt like gods and in only you,
O noble King,
did we believe.
We were happy and oblivious of danger.
Hearken, my King, maybe we did not just do it
all by our might.
The heavens had opened that night
and the light was on our side..
blinding the enemy.
We have won before too.
This time we had found them asleep.
I remember this vividly,
how they woke up to their deaths.
Ambush. When we descended upon
the army of Palcedia.
They were not ready for us
and see what that did to them.
So weep my Lord,
and I will join you.
Heck! The entire Kingdom will
tread your steps.
We will cleanse these walls of all conceit
and redecorate your pathways.
We will humble ourselves
as how we have risen before.
The wars we have won
will be plucked from our eyesight
and we will march for tomorrow,
with our swords sharpened
and pride quietened.

These walls

There's a hidden mystery behind these walls.
& this mystery is loud, calling out for me,
and I'm listening although it is silently dark.
At the shift of a second,
the wet paint smells deafening
and the cracks start to show.
The windows are held tight
and the door is sucked in,
slamming hard and weakening at the hinges.
It's a cold world,
and the roof knows the clouds will rain.
It keeps it from us, it won't tell.
Until the drops get too lusty
and the roof will have to give way.
We are cornered.
These walls won't move.
Where is a Samson when you need him?
To push these walls down.
I hear they have ears too
and their eyes have seen our darkest sins.
It's a cold world,
and these walls know the winds will blow.
But they keep it from us, they won't tell.
Until the zephyr turns too husky
and these walls will have to give way.
Behind these walls is where I found peace
and turmoil at the same damn time.
Behind these walls did I seek solace
and found a place I called home.
In this space, have I reveled and in it, also, have I wailed.
Times have been patient and subtly merciless..
and I have been wrongfully jailed.
My will imprisoned.
Call the prison and the fire department,
oh, yeah, and the police, too.
I am about to bring these walls down.

Under the blue lights

Under the blue lights
your eyes gleamed.,
a perfect mixture of pearls and tasty diamonds.
Under the blue lights
I held you close,
under the blue lights,
you, I, we.. shared our air.
Under the blue lights
your smile was illuminated, brightly,
your teeth sparkling from all edges.
Your smooth and gentle laughter
knocked my soul blue.
Under the blue lights
I remembered the first time I saw you.
You were dressed in blue
and your face a golden hue.
The blue lights give me this clue,
that you are the most purest and true, wait.,
that you are the purest and most true.
Under the blue lights
the curls in your hair stole my attention,
and robbed the air
of all sensation.
I was speechless.
Words were cruel and deserted my mouth.
I was thirsty.
And only the taste of your voice could quench me
and reconcile the without and the within..
Under the blue lights
the gentle winds blew your hair towards me,
the perfume struck my nose
and left me a bit dumbfounded.
It was a bit of oxygen and I wanted more.
It teased my senses and eased me around you.
It was like a magic had come
and swept you off your feet and into my arms.
Fewer wars had been fought like this, yes,
you left me ravished.. Positively famished. The desire.


Written by Yvon Ngabo and Dennis Tuyishime

Whispers from the death chambers

It has been 17 days.

17 dark days in this lonely cell.

They say, I've heard;

"What goes around comes back around."

And it did.

The shackles had been broken

and time seemed to have frozen.

The line had been drawn

and when the judge uttered those words,

I had seen it coming.

You don't azonto around fire

and expect not to sweat.

This time, though,

my tattered clothes had caught fire!

& now my aching body.

3 days left before the little

that is left of me burns to ashes,

turns to ashes.

Why would rain come falling

in the middle of the harvest??

I had cut down so many innocent trees,

I think nature was punishing me.

& I expected it, of course.
I expected retribution.
I expected to suffer.
But not in this manner.
Counting down long weeks, days, hours
and then minutes, soon, to your death,
had to be the most inhumane penalty.
"What is more wicked than suicide?",
My friend once asked me.
"Killing yourself a million times
before someone else noosed you."
I wish I would have answered this then...
Now that I knew better.
Now that I was shoulder-length deep
into the waters I was to drown in.
& my chin was touching the surface,
my beard choking in these mean cold waters.
My hands couldn't help now
like they had helped me before.
Someone had the key to their actions now.
The best I could do was greet my other hand..
as if to congratulate myself for my stupidity.
Or reintroduce myself to me
and say "Nice not to meet you"
and talk to myself.
and go mad.
and all that stuff.
There was no one close by.
Maybe the unmotivated guard outside my door.
and he kept asking me to not worry.
SHUT UP, is what I wanted to say
but a weak "I'll try" is what kept coming out.
I had a few days left to live;
I guess that pressure is bound to blow a few things
out of proportion.
Like what life really meant to me.
Why was I living?
What was I about to leave this world with?
What would people remember me for?
The heartless murderer?
The evil man?
How did all these happen?
Had I just fallen into a hole I would not get out of?
I think I had taken out so much
than I had given back.
I was selfish and my motives were screwed.
I was evil and I eventually pleaded guilty.
I wasn't ready to run around in circles.
I was cornered and my days numbered.
I had been cheap and this was its ramification:
3 days left to breathe,
and the world too far away from me,
to hear what I have to say.
That I am sorry.
So I scream out loud,
with a message tonight.
I'm anxious and death seems to beckon me louder.
I'm trapped in its voice, it's loud
so I have to scream louder.
I have to overcome my limits once more.
and I silently hope someone somewhere will hear my unwelcome scream,
even if it is just its whisper.

Custodians of The book of poetry

The dying embers of fire

and the slowly dying chatter 

as everyone headed to sleep

signified the curtains-close

of that day's night in this Kingdom.

The gates were closed at sun down

and stories would be told 

well into the night.

The children were always first to sleep.

Then the beautiful strong women.

Then the old men 

would string tales

and wove riddles 

and play with words.

The servant men mingled with the noble

and everyone was in high spirits.

They would sing and dance around the fires

and every one was super merry.

It wasn't a tradition

but the King wanted to repay their efforts.

The harvest was good this fall,

and the food would last them a year.

There was a new sense of commitment 

in the whole kingdom.

It must have happened after

he appointed the custodians of The book of poetry.

Poetry that had been told through the ages

in this Kingdom had been compiled

and written into a book by young men

suggested and brought forward by the council.

Scholars.

They were diligent

and highly knowledgeable

of the things and ways of the earth.

This book was then blessed by the King

and put in the hands of these custodians.

They were meant to protect the book at all costs,

and, I think I heard the King say even with their lives.

A huge bargain, that.

And they were required to read it aloud

during the end of festivities like these,

inside the King's chambers 

when everyone but the counsel and Your Highness

went to sleep.

It was like a spoken lullaby, not sung.

That's why the King was particular.

Only poems that were sweet to the ear 

and musing to the soul would be read.

& that was all of them.

The poets took their work seriously

and went out of their way, often times,

to stay in tune with nature.

It was a perfection game 

they kept getting better at.

& the King was always impressed.

These words were like honey

that tore sweet through your tongue

and won principality wars his sword 

had never seen.

Mufasa, the Shopkeeper

It wasn't hard living in the village.
It wasn't easy either. Why?
Because life was communal
and everyone seemed to be in your business.
It was a nice hard.
A hard I couldn't live without.

My grandfather was frail and old
and so was the shop I sold in.
It looked like it would fall any time.
Many people called me Mufasa,
just because the goods in my shop, wait for it,
moved faster.
I was famous and everyone would rather come
to my baby of a shop
than go to the new supermarket in town,
woe to the other small shops in the vicinity.

I liked this interest.
But again, it's not like I hadn't worked for it.
I had put in an effort to befriend every customer,
even the little kids.
Those ones, I would surprise them with sweets,
once in a while and as nature would have it,
they had to come back, naturally for more,
sent or not; with need or none.
This one mother came, this one time,
and yelled at me.
"STOP GIVING THEM SWEETS!"
& it was simple frustration in all honesty.
Small gifts gave me a huge demand.

For some reason,
I always knew what people wanted
depending on the time they visited the shop..
and it was a nice place to read newspapers, too.
(I always had a couple from the previous week,
the daily ones never reached in time)
News and affairs about the village
would always get to me.
People knew where to get it too
so they'd flock outside my Kibanda
and tell stories for ages in the evening hours.
I would join them occasionally,
when there was less traffic of people to the shop
that could actually buy something.

That bench, has to be the cradle
of all the funniest stories in the world.
We were so creative and anything someone said
was an absolute rib-breaker!
We'd laugh so loud and create a scene
that everyone wanted to become a part of us.
There was a different energy of positive vibes
and every one among us felt at home.
We were family.
& loyalty, we bred.
It wasn't easy,
because everyone had their different ambition,
but we found common ground.
A place where we leveled out.