Itch

I haven’t shared fiction on here in ages because virtually all my fiction goes to Art Stories these days. Thought I’d remedy that. I’ve fallen helplessly in love with prosaic poetry. Here’s some…

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The itch is back
The itches

These are the nights
In which I would kill myself…
If I could
I can’t

There are very many things
Many things I cannot do
Too many
But this itch
These itches I cannot scratch
These are the worst

Many of the many things
The things I cannot do
I can eventually learn to
One way or another
Some of the things
By way of the help of others
The others,
I have relearnt to do
I have had to

Tie shoelaces
Stir coffee
Knot ties
Comb hair
Brush teeth
Shake hands

Paint
Sweep
Type
Write
Lift
Wave

Scratch

These I have learnt to do
Relearnt to do

But this itch
These itches
I cannot scratch
They cannot be scratched

For this itch
These itches
They are at the tips of my fingers
The very tips

They nag
They gnaw
They tickle
They bite
They wriggle beneath my fingernails
Rap upon my knuckles
They dance in between the digits
Crawl up my hands

Around my wrists,
They seem to fade away
But upon my forearms,
They return full force
Tracing the veins up my forearms
And coming to rest
Just beyond my elbows

The mad itch
These crazy itches
And yet,
They can’t be scratched
They refuse to be

Earlier tonight,
I dreamt
I dreamt a dream
A dream of times past

I drove
Hard and fast
Along sunset-lit boulevards
And as the sun crept away,
Swallowed into the darkness,
I itched

I itched in my fingers
I itched in my hands
And then I scratched
Finger upon finger
And scratched
Hand upon hand
And scratched
Bliss

Until the sounds filled my ears
Of screeching tyres
And crunching metal
And tinkling glass

And my eyes filled
With blinding lights
And leaping flames
And spraying blood

Sensations
Of flesh flayed from bone
Of crushed limbs
Of pain unbridled

And then I awoke
To the mad itching
This maddening itch
Rabid itches

In the places
Where my hands used to be

Happy Halloween

Deep Dark Musings

“This mysterious life.”

Life is a mystery. A long, complicated enigma. We all go through it trying to solve the puzzle for ourselves individually. Figure out the intricacies, unravel the tanglement, know the unknown, make whatever iota of sense we can of the chaos, randomness and madness.

Some contribute to the endless confusion. Sowing seeds of discord, initiating actions that will spiral out of control, becoming tyrants, embarking on killing sprees, bombing shopping malls, shepherding zombie congregations, wrecking havoc on entire nations, starting world wars, spreading the darkness. “The heart of man is desperately evil.” But then there are some who suppress the evil and desperately fight for peace and light. They spread love and joy and constantly preach the idea that we can all live in congeniality.

Some just come to terms with the randomness. The world has experienced confusion for billions of years. Nothing shall change. Between the incalculability of nature and the perpetual self-destruct mode with which human nature operates, many eventually come to terms with the fact that we are but “passers-by in this strange world.” And “This world is not my own.”

They are right. At the end of the day, regardless, where one stands; regardless what one believes, regardless how much order and control one brings the their world and maybe even to the world of others. Regardless of anything at all, one thing is sure…

Death.

We will all die. At the end of the day.

The question is “When does the day end?”

“Every dog has its day.” I use that in entirely the wrong context of course, but, it applies still. The point is no matter how attached, entangled and joined together the strings of our life become, they are all individual strings still. We may all be in this so called ‘rat race’ but our finish lines are not the same. Yet, we run the race together. Not against each other. Together.

Kindness is underrated.

There’s a lot of sniffing going on around me right now. Pep talks too. And prayers. A whole lot of prayers. “We will not die.” “No more deaths.” “We will live long and old and see our children’s children.” Lol. The words “untimely death” keep popping up a lot too. Funny.

How can anyone tell?

Death creeps up upon one, taking them by surprise. Announces his arrival from a mile off to another. Comes for the new born, the toddler, the teenager, the young adult, the middle ager, the elderly. Did the elderly finish their race and the toddler get chucked? Is the middle ager a failure for giving up before his time? Is the young adult unaccomplished?

Death will come. The time and place unknown. A teenager somewhere is more accomplished than an 80yr old elsewhere will ever be. A popular person somewhere has far less of an impact than someone else who has a really small reach.

This mysterious life.

Death will come. For us all. At one point in time or another.

“Ready or not, here I come.”

Are you ready?

No one can answer that better than you. Especially seeing how “ready” translates to so many different things to so many different people.

If you died now, what would you be remembered for? Ok, you’re still alive, aren’t you? Well, how about if it were 2weeks back? A year ago? Remember that grudge? That mistake you made that you haven’t admitted to yet? Remember the apology you know you should have offered so long ago now that you feel like a complete fool now that you recall? I don’t go around with a ‘death consciousness’, but I hate to leave anyone with the tiniest bit of a justification to bear a grudge against me. “Sorry” should never be that hard to say.

Emeka’s smile. That’s what I remember the most of him. I hear he was a spiritual dude and that is something I’m glad to hear. But what I can speak for is his joviality and niceness. Emeka smiled a lot. He handled a really sensitive desk and was constantly put under pressure. Yet, he never let the pressure get to him. We hung out a few times, we were not close but we were certainly not distant. Emeka was my friend. I can say that. Emeka was my friend. People tend to look for only the good to say about people when they die. I have nothing but good to say about Emeka. I like to think I’m an objective person and yet, I can’t think of a single negative thing to say about him. Having experienced death very early on in life, I’ve come to be a sort of numb towards it. Very few times, the numbness is broken through. It happened with Dolu not long ago, it’s happened again now with Emeka.

There’s no point praying to live forever, or very long, or that death will not come. We will all die (or get caught up) eventually. “Na you pray pass?” More prayerful people have prayed harder than you will and died young. Heathens have lived long, ‘full’ lives. What’s the point in trying to avert the inevitable.

Live the life you want to be remembered for. Live your dreams.

Emeka smiled a lot. He was a good person. These cannot be contested.

Emeka will be missed.

Emeka