The mad man

The mad man
Long before now, long before time was infused inside my soul. Before I was sent to the earth. Near the stream containing many shrubs I walk on, elegantly without fear, shame, and harm. I have seat my self in those sullen water, i guessed nine months or thereafter. I was threaded with the placenta of birth and death. Betrothed to life scorching sun, smiles of bitter rain and lustrous muses of scavenging for the nuts to nourished my body, unite my spirit and guides the soul to manage his genderless attributes back to where time wasn’t created. I have walked a million time to the stream, casting my net daily, catching nothing. Even the little tadpoles which a child catch without suffering I alone couldn’t lay my net on. I have lost none inched of a hope because I targeted the daily calmness of the stream. If i could not get hold of the beings on water at least I can pluck the flowers near the stream on terrestrial abode. I walk to the flower, with songs of conquest. She smiles as nature, baring the regalia of wild purple, waving her nectar in silent wickedness. The wilderness that separates the flower from the stream encamp countless bees that sleeps and enjoy their sun, conversing with the gloom of their wings as they chat. I fluttered myself into this trap. I was stung by the bees. I became a madman. Having no fishes, no shell, no pebbles, no gold, no flower. I am having nothing and carrying nothing inside my haversack bag, as I am going to be infused back into the cubits were time end as a soul.
(c) Martin Ijir 2020

The merchant

We have travel from shop to shop seeking for what holds breathing in human’s nostril. Each shop we visited stalls our conversation with groceries, butter, tuna fish and fired spreading meat. Always the can milk stared at me whenever I stepped to a shop. The glance at her eyes invites patronage like a whore showing the lameness of her beauty. I hated each ounce of the milk that trudge the premises of thinking. The long rigasa train where banditry sleeps waiting for merchants to kidnap, stood at the dim night as we speed pass. I held the rails tightly, for I have heard of the tempting water of those kidnappers, and wish not to be their honoured victim. For I am only a merchant seeking the house that helds countless breathe. Something inside me whispered, let go off your hands from the rails. And see the dynamic of an invisible shop waiting your arrival! There you would have answers to your cajoling question. Foolishly, I let go the rails. For I love the words in obey and command. I am left sobbing in bruised excitement and tapping drops of breath gaping behind my soul. Truly, this impracticable journey consumed whoever voyage her path calmly. I can’t be dead, I say…
(c)2020 Martin Ijir