I'LL CRAFT ANYTHING...

The flame of my CANDLE keeps growing. Consequently, the shadow at the wall keeps growing ENORMOUS... 

 

      ™ © Othentikk 

 



Deejay Stabbyranks

Dear reader, count yourself very priviledged. To walk along this alley, glimpsing over candid & exclusive celebrity profiles... Today I've brought you one among the best Djs in Kenya!

CELEBRITY ALLEY...

What makes you the best Dj? 

~ God first, above everything. Having good grasp and passion for music. Excessive practise. Finally, possessing heightened ability to read and judge what your audience wants. 

some people still hold the stereotype that being a Dj doesn't pay. What's your perspective as an insider? 

~ Sincerely, it pay bills very well. Even more better when you grow larger in the industry. 

What paparticular genre of music do you like? 

I play every music genre, since being a Dj needs a lot of flexibility. However, I like dancehall. 

Do you feel nervous when you are beginning a gig? 

~ Not really. I believe I'm the best when on stage. Self-belief is the key to overcome nervousness. 

What do you love most in your line of trade? 

~ It has made me reach places I never imagined. It has made me build links with the figures I did admire like Dj Kalonje, Dj Joe Mfalme, Dj King Nelly...Plus, I love it more when fans forget everything & think only of music. 

Where do you so often do your craft? 

~In various clubs. But mostly at Club Ciroc and Taps Lounge . 

Your  last  say  to any dreamer reading this? 

Let nothing hold you back. There's nothing like the best time, it's you to create it. Pursue whatever it is that you desire. 


MUSINGS

Damn, these technological gadgets! This alarm things! 

 

I woke up and felt like crushing my phone! 

 

Dreaming I was besides king mswati, here in Swaziland. His highness giving me the only precious chance to select some beautiful lass. That time that he also does his annual selection. Young ladies. Genuinely young. No stretch marks. Wonderful shapes - ogle inviting. Firm calfs. Gentle thighs. True virgins ; one could crystally tell from how their knees knocked and rubbed against each other out of shyness. 

 

'Some day I'll choreograph a coup to overthrow king Mswati! '  With little seriousness, I concluded in heart. 

 

Yes. What? It was on a Sunday. Different, not like the common ones where I would arise at my own liking. So I did every relevant preparations that ensues waking up. Shortly reminiscing the early times I would wake up with drool paints of saliva that formed rivers from the corner of my mouth up to my eyes and sometimes my ears ;my eyelashes  covered with 'sleep-glue'.  Perhaps, all these happened so because I was responsibility free. 

 

I checked my capacity of elegance at my inbuilt closet mirror. I filled the mirror well and it shouted 'BRILLIANT!'  

 

I picked up my bible and blew dust from it, since it had taken quite some time missing my touch. It made me feel a little bit guilty how I create a wide lacuna between me and God and all things Godly. Equally, it reminded me of ndugu Paulo Wariwa. He gave me it as a souvenir. Something to remind me of Dodoma, Tanzania. Two years back. Attending a forum for spiritual and inspirational talks. 

 

Though not hard, it irked me how late I arrived at the church. The traffic jam dented my punctuality motive. The sun incessantly spreading its fresh, from another rise, accusatory rays upon me. And making me its ridicule subject. 

 

"Mama... muuuuum... this uncle walks like Alejanro! Mama look him! "  The woman I sat close to tried to pretend she wasn't getting what her little daughter was saying. I think she was exercising her pride. But the kid persisted ;a thing I liked about her. She was the drama type (kimbele mbele). The woman turned looking at her kid, her face reading sternness - the ilk of  'dare talk again and I'll kill you!'. In that second I noted her daughter's agility instantly deflated. She kept calm to a better part of the service, eventually falling asleep after a sequence of yawning. 

 

I shifted my gaze from that woman and her pretty angel. Trying to mind another new business. Then my eyes, full of prying, settled on a man. He stoodout. Upon him a head shape almost of my semblance was bestowed. Only that mine looked like another fruit in Senegal and his looked like another fruit I once saw in Zambia. A fruit called nyefu. He had substancially large lips. Lips that couldn't cover tightly his teeth. They left his lower canines exposed ;something that made him appear like he was all the time laughing, particularly at what? He sat tucked with the composure of someone who looked not disturbed with life and its pinching economy - not like the ones that seem to struggle to make unseen ends meet. 

 

"Gushey instructed his wife not to warm his bathing water. And so did she. He felt so fresh, so cool and relieved the moment he splashed the cold water on his body.... "  Briefly I heard the pastor squeeze this in his preaching. Then I begun to wonder how was that in relevance to the things biblical! These are simply those deeds that makes me so often to hate  'men of God'. They tend to throw away the flock from clearly holy things. They coax the congregation with Lukes, Matthews, Johns, Peters...then in between they start dragging their societal woes in the church into our ears. Whom do they think doesn't have problems of every alphabetical startings - from A to Z? 

 

"God. Forgive me for this evil thoughtfulness. "  I mumbled to exit the musings in me. 

 

We all dipped our little offerings in a pot that was near the pulpit, as the sermon came to an end. And I realized how dense the coin population to notes was. If in finality there would be money judgement, then I'm adamant coins will have their way to heaven. 

 

I walked towards the church gate, pebbles in the yard clicking underneath the strides of my shoes, behind me leaving a large number of the congregates exchanging pleasantries :

 

" Praise God... "

 

" He's great! "

 

" Exalt His name! "

 

"... amaziiiiiiiing grace!" 

 

" Be blessed! "

 

        {... to be continued...} 

 

     ™ © Othentikk 


DIFFERENT  DOINGS

The sneeze within me itched like it had matured. So I begun preparing to unleash it in a style of awe. And thereafter to conclude with an  'excuse me'   phrase as if I was recently from the diaspora. Then amid opening my mouth wide, it all of a sudden disappeared along the alley of my throat. I felt a little bit disgusted how nature played prank on me! 

 

All the same, I had just to go to the bathroom. To do a bit of being clean. The water in the basin was too cold. Too cold to run over my naked body. So I kept staring at myself - my reflection in the water. I did this for fairly a longer period. Stupidly thinking that something would warm my water. 

 

"Would you try to be faster! Bathe like a man! I also need to bathe! "  I heard my elder brother, Luhi, shout from the other end of the room. 

 

In that minute I did squat. Dipping my palms in the water, rummaging and playing with the baby soap. Testing if the water temperature had by now become friendly. But it was just how it was. I summed up my man strength, holding my breath and froze as the water ran over me, my eyes closed. 

 

Lunch was ready. Mama had just performed her best kitchen arts. The chicken looked delicious in soup inside the bowls that conquered a great part of the table. Not like the hen it was a couple of hours ago. How North, South, East and West of the home it made us sweat after it. Jumping and flying above us onto the orange, lemon and jacaranda tree within our home yard. Till it gave up. 

 

We were four in the family : Mama, Miisha, Luhi and lastly I. 

 

Miisha was away from home. Labouring in Dubai. The other time I rang her she told me she was doing sales and marketing in a reputable firm within the big towns of Dubai. When Luhi rang her, she told him she was doing professional modelling under the auspices of a very established modelling agency over there. And when the many nosy aunties and uncles called her for the same enquiry, she would say something way different from what she'd told another one. Precisely,  I didn't just understand what good she was doing there. All I knew is that she had a beauty that would win her any job plus the brain power. Nonetheless, she just sent mama kitu kidogo after every end months and new clothings of latest trends. 

 

On the other hand, Luhi was a dancer, who would dance to songs of any genre - stretching from contemporary to gospel. He was a choreographer, tutoring other aspiring dancers one-two-many compelling moves in the dancing arena, and in his youtube Tv channel. Unlike me, he was more Asian than African. The curled hairs on his head and his skin of white complexion talked it all. Eyeballs that appeared soft blue. A nose that protruded with mere sharpness at its end point. 

 

But what was I amid a collection of siblings that seemed to enjoy achievements of their endeavours? With an eye for details beyond ordinary level and a character of excessive curiosity, all I desired was just to be a man of pen. Pens on the papers. Being another god of my own. Just to create worlds and populate it with living and deads of my own likeness. With a day by day renewed dream to work under some established or rather inchoate magazine publishing firm as a weird columnist. 

 

After lunch, Luhi and I took different routes in pursuit of our own enthusiasm ;to explore various fruits that the world holds in place for each. 

 

Above my scalp, the sun shone with gentle hostility, as I walked across the Odidi grazing field. A conference zone for virtually all the cattle and herdsmen within the village. 

 

Some bulls were bellowing ;boastfull of their might. Others smelled the buttocks of the lady cows, laughing in full exposure of their teeth ;perhaps to show delight of blessings they'd grasped. While some faught fiercely in quest of superior top positions and respect in the field. 

 

The herdsmen did good minding activities of their social bliss. Some held radios of different company makes, upon their shoulders. Radios that seemed old :assembled by bladders, some attached by chewing gums and dough, improvised antennas so as to trap appropriately the roaming waves. While others slept and some held a committee of candid stories and arguments. 

 

Sooner than soon, I arrived at the market centre of Usenge, that was situated at the periphery of Usigu Town. And realised it was market day, since people were so in a hullabaloo doing their different doings :

 

"Madam take this! This fruit has the best juice! "

 

" Look! This tomatoes are more pregnant and of good ripe... "

 

" Kienyeji berrr! Alot maamiit saidiiiii! "

 

" Yadhni tieko rem duto manie dend dhano...Suud machiegni minwa! "

 

             {... To be contineud... } 

 

  ™ © Othentikk 

 

 


Her Legs - Julia's

   From the gorgeous thighs

   That trigger desires so high

   Crass with flesh of cute put

 

         Down to her knees 

               Descending 

   To calfs of feminine tenacity 

 

     Her legs  - - - Julia's 

 

Prints of awe on soil they make

Strides of elegance they take

 

      Steps of soft firm 

               With 

 Gentless that don't harm 

 

Limbs too pretty to arrest a glimpse 

 

    Not long in a way ugly 

Short not as a mood bubbly 

  But exquisitely moderate 

 

       Her legs - - -  Julia's 

 

 

™ © Othentikk 

 





A Polish Of Grief!

At 2 in the dead of the night, when, predominantly crickets spectates and some sing competitively amongst themselves songs of genres no other living creature understands, Maritha woke up so pressed. Her abdomen aching hard due to the urine that had fully accumulated in her bladder. Out of the excess tea she drunk a couple of hours before she fell asleep. She yawned wide, stretching arms aloft as if she was giving up to a battle of some sort. Then rushed out to pass out water. 

 

She did it with free force. Easy force. The body rain hitting the ground with soft hardness. And splashing some soil on her feet. Then she pulled back in position her recently purchased gikomba green underpant. Again tightening intact her red and black patched lesso - a prefrence for night gown, over her moderately big breast :that would soon envelope sufficient milk for her baby. Since she was heavy. 

 

"Mmm-Eerrkhh-Aarghkk! "  She audibly enough heard this unpleasant snort. Of a recognisable familiarity. Thoma, her husband, was fast asleep. On the bare ground. Roughly eight strides away from where she'd just micturated. Beside the house verandah. And Sheyyi, their dog of Dodoma pedigree, aggressively leaking his mouth. That which smelled sweetly bad. What the brew does best when the mouth is shut for long. 

 

"Eeiish! Iiish! Go! Go away! "   As she coruscated her torch light to intimidate the dog further. 

 

Maritha loved so much and was overly proud of everything within the parlour of their home. Equally, she hated so much virtually every end months. Every pay days. Because it kills the reserved pride, in her, for Thoma. Her husband comes back home staggering as he sings songs of no proper thought. Hurling words of unwelcome vulgar. He comes back in wet pants. Because the drink works best making his urethra loose. He comes back talking heard and some unheard English ;all sliding from a heavy tongue. Because that water has in it a magic of opening English gland. Thoma gets home, his clean clothes reeking bad ;with puke all over. And if not, he comes back with soiled trousers. Making Maritha struggle dragging him inside the house, her nose shrunk and lips elevated, in an inclination, to bar away the stench. 

 

"This is now too much! Thoma you must be provoking me deliberately! "  She mumbled as she moved inside the house. To fetch a basin  full of cold water,  " you must wake up now! And tell me why you have to treat me like I'm nothing to you! "  In that instance she poured all that water over him and commenced yelling,   " Get up! Get up now!"   But Thoma responded not, she noticed. 

 

She strode back to the house. To fetch a whip,that of a Maasai import. Effortfully to put into test every pieces of advice she'd accrued from the concerned friendly neighbours.  "You'll judge me mad I guess. So mad. But after you've told me when you'll stop this alcohol gulping! This thing that makes you drink every penny you toil for!" 

 

She stopped then, with a sudden abruptness, whipping Thoma. A flicker of a startle pinching her.. She'd never, before, seen him like that. In that state. Even if he'd gulped excess of it. He never grumbled at all, unlike other days. He never showed life in him, neither moving either of his limbs. 

 

No. It can't be real, she wondered.  "A while ago, you just snored,"  talking to herself with great trepidation,  "a true snore. So typical of you! Or was it your way of inviting me to see your throes? Nooo! No Thoma! Not now.  Not like this!"   She shook his shoulders. Slapped gently his cheeks. In attempt to bring back Thoma's response. To see life in him. She sobbed. Patting his chest. Sobs culminating into loudest wail. 

***                 ***                  ***

For a forever rest. Almost a month after his demise, his cadaver was brought back home, from the morgue. 

A black tie fastened slightly tight around his neck. From a closer glimpse of the casket that enclosed him. Lying supine in a very white and smartly sad tuxedo suit. Face blackened than the black he was when he lived. So black from a polish of death. With dead creativity. Dead unexplored amazing ideas. Dead knowledge. Dead possibilities to sire another prospective Obamas, another Mandela. And worse still another Osamas, another robber of fierce lethality... 

 

Thoma's mother did her eulogy. The saddest one. Their brothers :Arthur, Bert and Ethan did their so sad too. His living sisters, Annie and Martha could not make theirs. The grief was so overwhelming. 

 

"I never imagined. Not even a single moment. That this dark time, "   Maritha eulogised, uncontrollable sobs taking the best pie of her, " would come too soon skulking at my door! That this elusive monster would snatch away from me all that I treasured! Everything that renewed my smile... "

 

         [... to be continued...] 

™ © Othentikk 

     

 



Oscar Dimoh (Othentikk)

Fractures of Me (Othentikk)

™ © Othentikk

I don't read like you. I read voraciously - any material literary. I deem them the best oceans. I derive immeasurable pleasure, literally, from swimming in them. This is absolutely the zone I drown exploring great minds of the prolific writers. I just love how these mortals manipulate, intellectually, the human emotions. 

Welcome to my world of alphabetical masonry. My intent is, predominantly, to paint another feeling in you. Beyond amaziiiiiing, I believe, God created you ;placing emotions inside you... I would be so glad to manipulate and alter some. At point to make you sad, make you smile and... 

Expect spontaneity. A lot of it. Because that's me - so capricious (unpredictable). 

Cut me and I'll bleed Kenya. Amuse me and I'll laugh Kenya. Mock me and I'll sulk Kenya..... Any thing you do me I'll definitely reciprocate the Kenyan way. I love Kenya (my home). 

 

> THANKS GOD (the OVERLY SUPERIOR) for you made me a god of my own. Out of my brain by dint of my pen I  can create and destroy things beyond imaginations.... 

   

 

 

OTHENTIKK BLOG
OTHENTIKK


™ © Othentikk

Orgasm

 

Pushed against the wall,

Ripped completely nude, 

 

Sweet chill feeling 

Lips gently entangled 

An affectionate kiss 

Tongues thrust in mouths 

Warm and novel breath - some sensual air 

 

She grasped my essentials, 

Like it were delicate, 

It stiffened warm, 

Then hot and hard, 

And sweet, 

Veins pulsating future, 

Blood in the brain racing, 

Racing fast 

 

 

Grasped her waist with firmness

Touching gently her specials, 

And she gasped readiness, 

Eyes closing 

Sweet and temporary death, 

Body and body speaking, 

Silently, 

Language of their understanding 

 

Navel reading the navel, 

Chest over the breast, 

Waist upon a waist, 

Essentials inside the specials, 

Dancing in the concavity, 

Little perspiration 

 

Grips and graspings intensifying 

Pushings and pressings intensifying 

 

Thighs softly dancing wide 

And gently closing - stiffly closer. 

 

Sweet feeling... 

 

 


LIPS...

I dread sooooooo much the weapon side of the lips. Especially in its derisory angle. When it stretches in utter disdain. 

 

But I love it immeasurably. When it stretches upon the human's face to emanate a smile - THE ANGELic side of it. 

 

Try this to any human within your vicinity and behold the magic! 

[Enriched clichés] 

 

™ © Othentikk 


LIVING FOR NO GOOD

™ © Othentikk

        

 

Growing up, I had an insatiable curiosity. A creature that unanticipatedly crept up, pushing me into asking questions that transcended my comprehension. Forcing the grown ups around me to lie perpetually. 

 

It was dusk, I can recall much clearly, when baba Ombich, our then neighbour came back from his usual hustles. In his left hand he held a slightly blue polythene bag. A bag that had a fairly not-that-heavy heft. Inside it,there rested approximately 2Kg of animal offal, a panoply of ripe tomatoes, garlic onions, some condiment and sugar. And other commodities I tacit were meant for supper. He wore a grey linened achwiti pair of trousers. Feet caged in a brown pair of shoes. Shoes that seemed to have taken quite some time without a taste of polish. And a partially admirable shirt ;that was something between blue and white. 

 

Honestly, I never greeted him that dusk. I forgot totally placing into practise the few courtesy words,  'Hallo, Hi, How are...' , I was just recently taught in school ;because of this itchy I-Must-Know-Why kind of feeling. 

 

"What is it that mama Ombich puts in her mouth? "

 

" Nothing. Perhaps, lipstick. "  He talked back with a tinge of amusement. 

 

" Really, is it the 'lishtii'  that makes her mouth so sweet? "

 

" Mmm.... Kid. I think you need to go and bathe! "  Quite appalled, he tried to interrupt my broadcasting motives. 

 

" Noooo, "  I retaliated humbly,   " I always see the watchman eating mama Ombich's mouth! As they touch places of greatness - vitu za kususu! "

 

He sighed audibly. A sigh virtually similar to a laugh of a horse, and grimaced something I had never seen in him before. I noticed a change in his countenance too. But before I could add other details, like a cook doing salt over a delicacy, Mamaa's shout a balcony above my head and shoulder drizzled upon me. So sharp, straight into my tympanum. 

 

"Come here! Faster... Haraaaaka! "

 

I must have heralded the bellicosity in Mamaa, I thought. I ran up, ascending the stairway, frantically. Little perspiration squeezing out of my body through the bridge of my nose. I knew I would concoct nothing to convince her into forgiving me or rather punish me lightly. I imagined being stoic amid Mamaa spoiling my plump buttocks with lashes. 

 

"How many times do I need to warn you not to talk to baba Ombich? "  Her dry knuckles pounded my head painfully, in every interval of a word. " What purpose does your ears serve - can't they heed my words! "  I tried to make my palms an umbrella over my scalp so as to brave the frequency of pain she inflicted upon my head but she would further pinch very hard my uncovered ears - pulling them like she was harvesting lemon fruits. 

 

" I swear Mamaa, "  amid sobs, my face deluged with acrid tears, my voice rough with pain, I importuned,  " I won't repeat that whatsoever - not with baba Ombich... "

 

" Shut up! Shut uuuuup! Why on earth do you want to disturb me like your dad? Do you think I'll sit back gladly to raise a kid who'll be irresponsible and a silly dipsomaniac like his father! "

 

Never had I seen my dad physically, neither did I know what his character was. But, I came to learn figuratively what fractionally he was out of the invectives Mamaa hurled at me. I loved Mamaa. Her work of hands were admirably amazing :baking cakes, preparing saliva-provoking dishes, knitting cardigans... However, I despised the work of her arms especially when she was exasperated. 

 

The following morning, residents of the 4-2 premises that made up the Lukumba rentals woke up to an emphatic hysteria. 

 

Every human amassed by baba Ombich's door. There was blood traces at the doorstep. A stream of it that had flown from unknown origin. One by one, the humans followed what could be the source of the blood. On exiting the house, a lot of differences would be read on their faces. Some sobbed. Some wailed. Some would sigh for long - mumbling their own things. While some shook their heads - their palms over their head. 

 

It then arrived a point my mum entered. And I followed her in, as if I was a particle and every piece of her shadow. All of a sudden, the little courage that existed in me drained. Drained, flowing to a zone of invisibility. My tear tank got a puncture, and I could feel tears awash my visage ;downwards the edges of my mouth. I felt like my hairs were deserting my scalp. And my bones getting frail. Frailer. Frailest. 

 

Baba Ombich sat on a pallet rocking chair. Still but dead :eyes dilated and staring into no specific place, mouth wide open with traces of toxic foam all over his lips and beards. Tongue hanging out ;creating a dancing avenue to an assortment of flies. Besides him there lay an empty bottle of the toxic substance he'd consumed. In front of him there spread pieces of butchered body parts - poor mama Ombich and Ombich! Their flesh in a pool of blood. 

 

Three days after. After a count of sunrises and sun falls, appearance and disappearance of stars, my routinely activities took an abnormal turn. 

 

A Tuesday, I remember. Afternoon, amid a mathematics lesson. Though hot, we sat with enough composure and attention to absorb every bit Mr.  Mobuchi strove to instill in us. He randomly pointed at each of us to answer a set of questions. After a couple of picks he pointed at me to answer 4+8+16. I wasn't that sharp mathematically, so it took me quite some minutes to figure out what the appropriate answer could be. Being an understanding teacher, Mr. Mobuchi gave me some time, as he moved enticingly closer to me. 

 

"Yeeeeeeeeees,  Alafuu? Tell me it - what you are thinking. Believe that's the right... "Thereupon I heard his voice transform.  Its masculinity fading spontaneously. And a feminine tone emerged, growing resoundingly and with its own spontaneity too. Exactly mama Ombich's tone! The class roof that had patches of spider webs and some flies ensnared in them became darkest. Becoming blur. Very blur that I could see nothing. Except mama Ombich and Ombich. The two moving towards me, amid terrifying shrills and echoes of so weird screeches! Ombich grasped a knife - of gory sharpness! Her mother clenched an axe - gourge fierce! 

 

I tried to scream, to scream loudest but something anonymous and something unseen worked good in suppressing my screams. I attempted to run, to run away fastest but something anonymous and the thing unseen held my feet glued tightest where I stood. 

 

Like a lizard hatching from an egg - to get a new life, I woke up from that world I had lost into. My head feeling heavy with a slight verigo and a painstaking migraine! My school attires completely dirty, as if I had spiralled and crawled akin to a baby on a dusty field. I was alone in the classroom while the entire school population stood dazed out of the room. Tears begun flowing rapidly. A cry of confusion and fear. Since I couldn't fathom what was happening - and why me! 

 

Two fortnights later. After sufficient solacing. After quite a number of medical check ups and psychological motivations, I went back to school ;so that I would be what those who drive cars are. 

 

At around 8.15 in the morning. In the middle of the music lesson. A morning fairly chilly and the atmosphere smelling pretty, fresh, out of a previous night's rainfall. I turned to check on my desk-mate's class work to see how far they'd gone and how much they'd covered. 

 

"We've done a lot. "   Kiisha whispered since the teacher was in classroom. 

 

" Can all of you rise up and sing after me the national anthem, "  the teacher interrupted my look over Kiisha's work,  " the first stanza then we stop! "

 

Within a spur of the moment, upon the onset of the anthem singing, a pang so excruciating penetrated my eardrums. A mama Ombich's thorough chortle ensuing ;drilling heartlessly into every piece of me! I felt my head tearing asunder. My brain shaking loose like contents of a spoilt egg and my entire body shivering overwhelmingly. My senses blocked - a rational thinking locked hard! I couldn't run away ;knees weakened. I just cried, the loudest cry. I just pleaded, the loudest plea : mama Ombich to leave me alone and Ombich to go away. But they kept on and on laughing thunderously, a prolonged laughter - to what I couldn't see, as they advanced towards me. And I begun moving fast, away from them, getting strength from where I never understood! Adrenaline? 

 

"Come back Alafuu! Please come back! Let's go home. "  I faintly heard a call - far stretched. So distant like echoes diminishing along a long alley. And a gentle touch over my chin, lingering close to my lips,  " get back to me baby. Pliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiz open me your eyes. Open them for me. It's now safe. I'm your mama. Look at me for once!" 

 

My ears faintly heard I-am-your-mama-things. My heart danced life. I struggled to open my eyes and gradually what held them closed fortunately decided to free them, giving me a relief of its kind. A relief from another darkest world! A myriad of feelings raided the whole of me as I struggled with clarity of my senses. There was pain, a tremendously aching pain, over my right shoulder and right knee. I threw a look at the aching spots and felt hopelessness hit me hard. A strong hate for myself and a flow of uncontrollable tears came subsequently! I gazed at Mamaa, perhaps to see if she could give me an answer :an elaborate reason of why I was what I was! A reason of why I was in the hospital with an amputated leg and an amputated arm, and immense bruises painstakingly sore and closed with threads, virtually all over me! 

 

"Stop crying my son. Stop crying baby - God gave me you, only you as a miracle,  "   Mamaa broke into a cry too, as she tried to solace me, making me wonder why I should be strong,  " you're destined to live longer. God loves you so much. He survived you an atrocious car hit! As you were running away from 'them' to cross the road... "

 

" I am alive for nothing! Living for no good! I just want to be free :a forever freedom! To die and fade away from the Ombich's! Tell the doctors to kill me quick! "

 

  ™ © Othentikk 

 

 


™ © Othentikk

A Paper From my Coat 

 

I understand what torment I brought you. 

The letter piece I carried home, 

Honestly, I'm sorry. 

Sooooorrrrrrrry for all that I did,

It wasn't intentional. 

I never meant to maim your heart. 

 

Yap, I admit at times people have to move on :

to shed their old them, 

embrace their new them, 

find new ventures, 

abandon old adventures, 

And seek new souls, 

Perhaps more solacing shoulders, 

Just to fly away from the beast they had 

Straight into the arms of anonymous angels. 

 

... but reconsider me before you move on.... 

 

 

How I wish you would see sincerity in my words...

And believe it was a ghost work...

A pal asked I do it for him..To make him win an angel 

 

What a devil! 

To make me loose my angel. 

 

 

My soul really aches, 

It feels utterly empty, 

Every exuberance gone, 

Life siphoned out of it. 

 

Now valueless akin to a drenched paper! 

 

Why leave me forlon? 

 



Drink To Sink

™© Othentikk

         So hard I've tried,

  Tried to battle them away,

To close them every visible openings 

 

    But do I know? 

     Do I understand? 

     Do I see? 

 

How they unimpedably manoeuvre, 

 

               Manoeuvre... 

To enter through unseen apertures, 

Into my empty soul, 

Into my psyche, 

Shaking my frail flesh, 

Them despicable memories! 

 

 

            Not even time 

And the family of time 

The ancestor of time, 

And its clan and neighbours

Can expunge them away 

 

 

Neither can darkness blanket        them to suffocation, 

Instead, revitalizes them, 

Replenishing their retaliation strength, 

Them despicable memories! 

 

 

I thought light would              intimidate them 

It does the complete obverse, 

It makes them refulgent, 

And conspicuously vast 

Metamorphosing them :

 

         STRESS 

      DEPRESSION 

     DEJECTION... 

 

 

Opening a whole new chapter, 

 

         A new page, 

 

Exposing another side of a foliage... 

 

A perfect justification ; 'Whys' 

            I opted to drink 

                    One

                   Two 

                  Three... 

    And more than more, 

 

      To be a dipsomaniac! 

 

    Drinking to sink them

To kill despicable memories! 

 

 

 

 

Othentikk World!

Welcome to my word masonry...


Headline

I'm a paragraph. Click here to add your own text and edit me. I'm a great place for you to tell your story and let your visitors know a little more about you.