The Night I slept ( The revelation) by Checkmate Mido

(This poem by one of my favourite poets gets my ears orgasming....had to have it here.....  Checkmate Mido.....:::)))) Love and Respect)))


"Let's last forever." Said I to Infinity,
Who smiled rather cheekily,
And with a shoulder shrug,
Gave me a colder hug,
And a kiss on the cheek,
Then she whispered in my ear, 'let's last 'till next week.'
'Next week is too soon,' said I,
Red eyed,
From fury half contained then she said, 'I can't promise you forever,because promises break like my heart, if we start with playing time... Then today is last week.'She said,
'And you have one week left.'
Dazed, Weak breath,
Confused and not,
In my senses I came to face with thought,
And eventually replied,
'The moon rose when the sun died,
But from the math that learnt I,
The sun died indeed, but the moon held onto it's light so to be fair it never left.'
She laughed at my cleverness,
And said,'Ridiculous! Trickster you! I know what misters do,
And if you really want me in the worst way,
Then i'll give you today upto thursday.'
'But that's not forever...' I begun but before I could say,
She started to pray.
Stars fell and skies cracked.
'What is it you do,' I asked the godess infinity as lightning whipped.
'The cup from which you sipped,' She said,
'Has been stripped from your palm 'till you know finesse and calm. Kiss forever goodbye as I depart.'
And then the earth crumbled and the world fell apart.
'Don't leave!' Said I, knowing it's too soon,
She smiled half-faded, 'You whom,
At night know where to find the new moon,
Shall die trying to define forever in years.'
And then she disappeared.
Then I woke up.

Starter

Now this has been a long time coming. You know that silly googlable saying that goes “tommorow I will write a note about procrastination”? Well, there has been many tomorrows for me as far as starting a blog is concerned. And trust me, this is a big step!!! This girl right here took four years to learn the art of carrying a notebook in the handbag....four years!!! So you gatta give me one of those congrats pats for having started a blog. Finally!!!

I agree. I am a lazy writer- I have slowly become. And just like in any other situations, I have excuses for it. I blame it all on the weather, on bad roads, on Glee, One-tree-hill, Greek and those of that family....to say the least. Before these ages of the referendum, promulgation, philanthropic-enough, writing used to flow in me. Every moment I felt a tear in my eye, a pen and a paper would be my recipient handkerchief and shoulder. I would cry through them, paste my tears on the paper, soak my mucus in it...and feel refreshed thereafter. Sadness used to be my only inspiration. Then days of sadness gladly disappeared with time- and so did my writing. Only times I used to feel inspired to visit my notebook was when a good song was playing in the Matatu. Then came the fear that people might judge me through my writing. I remember one time, my name disappeared in the lips of those that had read my works, and I won the title’ girl-who-writes-stuff-about-prostitutes’... and in the fear of judgement, I stopped this course that my writing had taken. I decided to be a little mild on everything I wrote. I forgot that life is a mixture of mild and extreme. And these milds and extremes are what literature is supposed to reflect. Literature is a mirror of the society. It is a free field, just like life. Explore with it, reflect with it, be bold in it, be mild with it, teach lessons with it, entertain with it...let literature be your tool.


 I am done letting sadness be the only source of inspiration for my writing, no matter how therapeutic it is. I am done with fear of being judged with my writing, of people seeing me through the lens of my words...I will write about prostitutes and bank managers, about rape and prom parties, about broken hearts and happy hearts, I will write about abortion and happy births, about the Glory of God, of Evil, .... na juu ya hio story, welcome to my blog...and here is one of my old pieces to get this friendship started.......

SPACE IN MY JEANS

 The white in his eye.
That fixed blank and blind stare…
Just a wink and a movement in his chest
The only proof that he is alive

I went to see him in the hospital
Appearance, so alien
I had to recognize him by the nametag
His face, shriveled like a burnt plastic
His bones creaking and cracking
With every in-breathe and out-breathe
Not even a teaspoonful of energy
To move his strips of lips
Just so he can cover his mouth

I called him by name….
He couldn’t look
Probably lost in another world
Of permanent pain and anguish
I called him by name again…
Then an incomplete wink
I wondered what he had to do
To be smashed weak like that


With my eyes
I outlined the twig-thin body shape
Which was once strong and sturdy
And remembered the doctor’s words
“We have run every test in vain”
Yes, the curtain statement to protect from shame!

Then I wondered and discovered
How easy it is
For me and him to trade places
As I dine and wine
With men of means and money

I am not lucky
The vengeance of this weed growing
Has probably not caught up with me yet
Many a’ times
I sing and dance to tunes and beats
From North and West
South and East
In and sometimes not in
Dancing shoes made of rubber
That a gun can shoot
And I still call it protection…

So as I stood beside his hospital bed
Scared that he might go where he sought in my watch
I know I made a vow
To protect what I have
Wear my jeans tight
For there is no more space in my jeans
For weed to grow
No more space in my jeans
To roll in sheets for fun and turmoil later
No more space in my jeans!!!!!
I lock the belt
I throw away the key
NO MORE SPACE IN MY JEANS