How the red fire falls into cinders
The steep fields into ponds
The tall trees into homes
The pure dreamers into victims
How we whisper in the presence of silence
And cry in the break of joy
How we tape bibles to our black hearts
And force utopia to rape reality
How we live without living
How we die without knowing
You will find the body after I’ve had tea and fed the cats. It will be covered in roses, just as he liked, but by now, I’m sure his blood would’ve drenched the flowers red, just as I like.
You will find his eyes in the freezer, his nails in the library, and his purple lips under his white pillow.
If you are ever filled with rage or the urge to find me, know that I have not run away. I am where I have always been, in the little hut where the green stream ends, where he washed my body last winter and froze the waters red.
I remember it clearly; her frail body lying gently on the bed as though she was afloat, pipes emerging out of her like new organs, and the colour of life hastily preparing to climb off the old train. It was at that moment I realised that I had never known sorrow so great. As a prophet, I knew of what was to come, of the loss we must all surrender to.
Atsu, I hope this liberation took you to happier lands.
I think of you, in a sad way with unsaid apologies.
There are nights when I think of how she might have been in the vicinity, somewhere close by when you fell for me.
I think of how you may have rung the doorbell to my house instead of the one on the opposite, or of how she and I wore red the first time you saw me. Such trickery, I believe, is the same thing a mirage would do to a weary traveller.
Today, I apologise for the way I appeared as a misguiding lamp post, like a weed that towers over the blooming flower.
Dear friend, leave the memory of me in good cheer for your oasis exists somewhere, and it is waiting for you.
Thank you for passing by.
You and I were holding hands, and we were breathlessly close, unable to express the joy of being together again. I smiled through the tears, and in a second you took me in an embrace.
It was a while after we kissed that you broke the silence with, “I missed you.” I reached for your lips, and we kissed again.
And just like that, the dream broke and 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 seconds later, reality seeped in. I was on my bed, totally drenched in sweat, and sobbing uncontrollably. It was pitch dark, and I could see nothing through the blur of my tears. I shut my eyes and tried crawling back to the dream just to catch your face with the words, “Please, please…,” as if they were a magical chant. “Just a few more seconds, please.” My pleas fell into the silence till my throat went dry. I laid back on the soaked pillow, held my breath and a second later, I gave in to insanity.
To the people we lose.
This piece is for my dear friend, Ishan, on his birthday. My dear, I wish you find love in a soul who stays with you till you grow old.
He asks me if I’m happy as if happiness is something you can find on the street, something you can pluck by merely stretching out your hand.
Happiness, my lost love, is not in plenty like your frothing poison or your lies. It is a dream; a dream which will never come to me no matter how many years I spell myself into slumber. Peace too is not for me. It is not for someone who lets a man like you invade her every room despite knowing too well she’s going to be left homeless forever.
I am the quiet girl who will beautifully braid your hair and crown you with fresh flowers, then take a pair of scissors and gently insert it into your neck. While you let the shock set in and the blood flow out, I’ll smile, and kiss your lips till they give up the last breath.
Sweetheart, bliss is not for you. You deserve much more, and only death can lead you to it.
Humans are painting cages and elevating them to a thing of beauty by way of decor, as though they are worthy of any kindness. Brethren! Cages are enemies; dreadful and wicked. They are lifeless objects that will make you forget how to fly with your wings, how to dream with the world.
All of life’s pain comes hidden behind beauty and while it is our naive nature that deceives us, it must be our wisdom to see beyond facades.
Sirius Ngullie
There will always be traces of you by the brook, the tea stall around the corner, the lamp-post towards my house…
There will always be memories of your fingers around my wrists, your body thrusting above mine, your mouth swallowing my vain protests…
There will always be traces of my blood in every breath you take, and in time each drop of crimson will lead my pain to you.
You see, my dear, there is no escape.
Sirius Ngullie
“Look at me!” I said, and in a fit of anguish I turned his face and angled it to mine. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.” Angry big drops rained down, and when I could face him no longer, I forced my eyes shut. In those few seconds, and as soundless as the night, “I didn’t want to but, I’ve fallen out of love with you. I’m sorry,” came his reply. Nothing made sense and I found myself amidst a whirlwind with every part of me broken.
Ten years later, two strong arms bind me with soft whispers of love into my ear. I leaned into him and quietly thanked the one who fell out of love with me.
Sirius Ngullie
