* An Essay on Sardine Bait balls

Calm is the sea, whose surface is a large piece of glass that mirrors the outlook of the mighty skies above. Beneath the thin blue line lies a lot; fine fleshy fishes living in schools, their hungry predatory friends and the lurking shadows of large fishing nets.

     A great level of safety can be attained when sardines also known as forage fishes live in shoals rather than when they live as individuals. At the slightest sign of danger these fishes gather together and when all defensive measures fail, forming a 10-20-metre-diameter bait ball becomes their last choice of defence. With the speed at which they spin and the dazzling effect their silvery bodies cause, it is difficult for any of them to be singled out for lunch. Despite all their defensive gestures; predators such as swordfishes, dolphins and whales still get through.

     As much as bait balls can be made ineffective for the sardines by their predators, it can also be intentionally triggered by the predators it’s meant to shield them from. A bait ball in its own right is as obvious as the sun. It brings just a single thought to the mind of the predators which is ‘Dear Lunch, thank you for notifying me of your shiny presence.’ This leads to the saying ‘smart preys, smart hunters.’

     At the sight of a bait ball, a sword fish is a master fencer. It dives it’s way with great velocity through the massive rotating ball, coming out at the other end to feast on fishes it stunned or killed with its long bill.

     A dolphin can succeed in scattering a bait ball thereby driving the fishes to shallow parts of the sea where it makes the water around them murky. The sardines won’t want to swim through the muddy water, so they sail out of it only to land in the mouth of waiting dolphins that make a meal out of them.

     The humpback whale understands well that a school of sardines fear bubbles a lot. This massive mammal dives below the charging shoal and blow out a curtain of bubbles which trap the fishes. Once that is done, a group of whales ascend together towards the bubbles and gulp large amounts of fishes at once.

     To a school of small fishes, gannets are skilled hunters that plunge into the cold sea water, only to have a sardine or two plunge into the clutch of their beaks. Out they fly with their catch to have a decent meal of seafood by the beach.The fact can’t be denied that cape gannets are as friendly as the other predators small fishes have.

     On some days one might find the life of sardines interesting, but to these forage fishes living in the epipelagic zone of the ocean, nature is not a very fair fellow. Life as a fish at the bottom of the food chain is nothing but bitter-sweet, more like a movie with a tragic ending.



Beyond the snowy midnight, in the shades and shadows of the Swiss Alps. A pair of golden brown eyes were gleaming. The big cat just woke up, his ears stretched out and pointed. He was trying to follow up the very sound that interrupted his chilly peaceful nap. Quietly, he stood on his four paws, claws a little stretched out and immediately contracted inward. He walked out of the straws he roughly weaved as an insulated bed, that kept him warm on the ground. The look in his eyes was not good but filled with fire and wrath. Kitty walked in a majestic way. Effortlessly not revealing his strong, fit and fine coated youthful body. Only walking in the shadows. Kitty started sniffing at the leaves and the frozen soil, as if something intruded. He opened his mouth to let out a warm breathe with the smell of evil. Angrier than Angry Birds, although it’s very usual of Kitty. He bounced down the woods of the alps, as silent as the moonlit skies above.

    After a few kilometres in the moon-lit night, he spotted a bleating roe-deer, the very thing that rang alarm bells into his cold nap. The trembling cute little fawn, barely two weeks old, had just lost her mother, who got eaten up for a midnight snack by another wild cat. The fawn fixed her eyes on the golden brown eyes that reflected her own image.

    ‘So fresh, so tender, so delicious.’ Were all what Kitty said in a cold harsh tone.

Just like how we humans find lamb sauce delicious, that’s how Kitty saw the fawn meal.

    The roe-deer laid helpless without an instinct to escape. Mesmerised by Kitty’s dangerously charming eyes, she was such an easy catch for Kitty. He sat on his backside and hind limbs, used his forepaws to graciously pull the fear-frozen and shivering roe-fawn into his warmth. With the look of snacks in the Tiger’s eyes, he started licking the grey fur coat of the roe-deer like she was a meal to be licked before eaten. Kitty rose up and made a blanket of dry leaves and straws for the fawn and wrapped her in it.

    ‘I shan’t be long cutie.’ Kitty whispered silently licking his muzzle.

The fawn let out a little cry, for the fear of being eaten later.

  ‘I shall be back for you, but not to lay a claw on you.’ Kitty whispered reassuringly before he crept into the darkness.

   Now in search of the wild cat that ate mother-roe. The small river was gleaming of white and cream colours of the moonlit skies. Kitty stood on the shady side of the river to have a drink. He stretched out his tongue and used it to work some ice-cold water into his mouth. After waving his tongue four times he continued his quest.

Rage fell over Kitty, for he refused to believe another cat came to eat a roe-deer under his watch. This made him feel like a bad herdsman. He loved being the only member of the cat family occupying these woods, another cat sharing it with him meant trouble. Deep into the icy forest, Kitty saw a camp of humans. Their shadows made  beautiful impressions as they fell on the sides of their lantern-lit tents. Kitty opened his mouth, growled a little then licked his muzzle. He stretched out his forepaws, positioned his hind limbs in a perfect angle that would enable him spring his weight up and descend unto the tents of the humans. Claws sharply extended. Kitty had a few seconds imagination of how delicious they’d taste and wondered if the cologne they were wearing will add extra flavour to the meal. Kitty disengaged from the attack and pawed away from the tents, it was never his habit to attack humans.

    Over twenty minutes of walking in the fullness of darkness. Under a pine tree rested an adult tiger, feasting on mother-roe. The chewing cat was carried away by his fleshy meal that he hadn’t sensed another cat around. The pleasure of eating a wild deer couldn’t be compared to what they were fed with in the zoo. Kitty remained calm and watched his target eating. The last thing the eating-tiger saw was Kitty’s golden brown eyes jumping out from the cold river nearby, for Kitty slashed his throat with a single wave of his left paw. Supper was set, Kitty furiously feasted on the tiger he just killed. He felt no remorse, for it was one of those cats in the Swiss Zoo who’s very clan deprived him and others of a good life. He licked and covered every evidence of a murder. He rose up looking innocent as he glared into the night sky, for tiny flakes of snow were now pouring.


    This was how Kitty had been parading around the forest since his second escape (four months ago) from the zoo into the Swiss woods. He once lived in a prestigious Swiss Zoo styled like a game reserve with net fences to keep visitors safe. The zoo was thousands of kilometres away from the alps.

    Kitty always had a tough time living in a conformist society, either in the wild or in captivity. He was a motherless cub in Sri Lanka, who spent the rest of his cubhood in the Swiss Zoo. The zoo was plagued by classification, lust, greed, corruption, murder and the unnatural fight for power. It led to the lions, tigers and panthers forming different inter-species clans since a lion could have a propaganda that suited a panther and a tiger. Cats that did not belong to any group were at risk of no food and no protection. This led to Kitty’s first unnoticed breakout from the zoo, but it was so freezing out in the woods for an Asian cat. Although the zoo had its own fair share of bitter weather but there were shelters for the animals. After two days, the youthful Kitty dashed back to the zoo. Nothing had changed except that Kitty secretly began preying on clan cats for supper. He ate what food he was lucky to get sometimes or just one member of a clan.

    The only source of happiness he had or imagined, She-Tiger, got carried away by the little glitz and glamour a tiger from one of the clans enticed her with. The tiger also forbade Kitty from speaking to She-Tiger else he would be killed. Out of annoyance and hatred for the society, Kitty silently ate his rival and he never reclaimed the love of his life.

    Not long, the zoo managers went broke. The Clans believed their prayers of freedom were answered, but to Kitty, it meant the zoo keepers had no money to feed the vast number of cats in the zoo. Does God listen to the prayers of sinful cats?

Since the zoo ran low on income, food became inadequate, the war between clans of cats became deadly. Those who belonged to none or were weak starved to death. Out of the zoo for the second time, Kitty was gone and he was never coming back. He had lost faith in the cat family. He was voiceless even after little attempts to change things. He embraced a new life as a monk in the Swiss Alps, where he was the only cat. As for she-tiger she became the wife of an abusive but powerful tiger. She believed since the tiger could care for her, she just needed to live with his brutal romance. Whenever a clan cat escaped from the zoo and heading into Kitty’s territory. Kitty ate the cat. Then came the riddle of the cat-eating beast for explorers and biologist to solve. Kitty usually laughed at the confusion that came upon them. For Kitty was an elusive ghost who was never going to be seen by any human. Later no one bothered since Kitty became skilled in covering his tracks. Once again everyone believed the beast existed no more.

    The first month in the frosted wild, Kitty was fond of going to the nearby skiing resort and village to eat leftover meals of exotic restaurants. He was clever enough to put an end to such a naughty adventure, yet he still ventured around the local church occasionally to have a sense of salvation, by enjoying the hymns and bells.

    Kitty roared out loud, for he needed to feel like a tiger sometimes rather than playing the mute shadow always. Kitty bounced off in pride, going back under all the charcoal-black spaces he took and as usual, mysteriously leaving no paw print or evidence on the frozen ground. How he achieved that, no one knew.

   Kitty returned to his pine tree with the fawn now resting in the cat’s own blanket of straws down the tree. He climbed up his tall tree, where he gets a 360 degree view of his zone. There he watched-out for any intruding cat from the zoo and eliminate them. Kitty rubbed his body around the pointed branches of the pine tree to get the pleasurable effect of a catnip spree. He finally rested on a thick branch and picked his brown teddy bear, a nice pal he picked up a long time from the resort. Possibly something a tourist misplaced. He grabbed the stuffed toy tight in preparation for a sweet winter night.

    At dawn, Kitty gets himself well hidden in his tree or somewhere else. With a near-panopitcon view from the tree, he watched over the herd of roe-deers in the woods. He was their guardian angel, no harm could befall them, the only danger that came was whenever he needed his tummy filled, he usually ate the aged ones. Like an angel in the alps, Kitty protected his very own paradise and all that lived in it. The roe-deers called him ‘The Shepherd.’


Read faster, several times

Dessert and I went to the desert to have some fruity dessert.

We got to the desert’s dessert bar called ‘Fruity Desserts’ owned by a deserter. 

But Dessert forgot to bring our dessertspoons to the desert pool.

The desert’s dessert bar’s dessertspoons weren’t dessertspoonful. 

Have you ever seen a desert’s dessert bar near a pool whose dessertspoons aren’t dessertspoonful?

So Dessert and I deserted the desert’s dessert bar near the pool in search of dessertspoons that were dessertspoonful. 

She and I deserted the desert’s dessert bar to get dessertspoons that were dessertspoonful.

Dessert and I found some dessertspoons in a deserted desert shop.

Settling in the desert to eat the fruity desserts we bought from the desert’s dessert bar with dessertspoons we bought from a deserted shop.

Dessert discovered the dessertspoons weren’t dessertspoonful. 

‎Never will I take Dessert to a deserted desert for some fruity dessert without dessertspoons that are dessertspoonful.‎


In the wake of a harsh reality that might befall lake Turkana and the tribes who’s livelihood is glued to it. It’s almost the same thing happening in the ‘small village’ somewhere in the north of Kenya, even worse is the fate of this village.

The Ethiopian government has a grand plan to harness the powers of the Omo river. With this great river that runs from Southern Ethiopia to Northern Kenya, a hydroelectric dam is to be built across the river by the Ethiopian government. So also the river is to afforestate the riverbanks with cotton and sugarcane by means of streams of water channelled towards the plantation, let’s just say ‘irrigation’. For men of change and development, it’s more than a grand scheme and honestly for the selected few, it means ‘more money rolling in the bank’. In fact anyone with such a river will carry out this exact scheme. But looking at the environmental and socio-economic effects of this project, especially through the eyes of tribes of the far Northern Kenya who have nothing but Lake Turkana. It is a bad idea.

 ‘This is how a profitable and good idea can turn out to be evil especially when there’s no intention to help those affected by the undesirable but often overlooked consequences of the idea. This is something that happens in everyday capitalism. ‘

   Lake Turkana is a provider of life, food, water etc to these beautiful people who are hardly considered citizens of Kenya by both the government and the southerners. Building some 800-foot wall of concrete across this river, Omo means cutting these tribes out of life. River Omo feeds lake Turkana with water, so a cut from the north means lesser and lesser fishes for the tribes. The government of both countries seem silent towards the evil gradually coming to their people. Not even the protests or complaints can help.

  In the ‘small village’ in northern Kenya. A little far from lake Turkana, it’s neither near the place called Selicho nor the village Ileret where the sound of bleating goats echo from. It’s a village consisting of a few people of the Daasanch tribe; a place where schools are over an hour and a half by foot, donkeys as the only tools for cruise or ride, no power supply and no cellular coverage.

What does happiness mean to the people of this small village? Especially when their existence isn’t well represented on the map or them being regarded as ‘others’.

  As for Fanaka Hamisi (the name Fanaka means success and valuable while Hamisi means born on Thursday. Both are Swahili names) and his village people happiness means; food on the table, plenty of nile perches in the market basket, clean water, neighbourhoods safe of the light-fast bullets from the end of the poacher’s barrels, safer shelter etc. Sadness to them was like every moment and so synonymous to the word ‘forever’.

A man from the city with a whole lot of money recently acquired over 20 plots of land close to Fanaka’s village, in no time he started a sugarcane plantation. From a little bit of agricultural studies, sugarcane is a water-draining floral beast. In a village with dry land, it only meant their lake will be a drinking fountain to the sugar cane farm. The villagers had told the cane farmer about the evil of his agenda but he kept on promising the farm was to bring them better jobs. Upon all he said, not a single stroke of work brushed the energetic and eager hands of these helpless people. Day by day, the farm’s heavy demand for water kept shrinking the already over-fished lake. Meaning fishermen and fish sellers like Fanaka’s mother, Aisha Hamisi will all become one (jobless).

It was a very hot day in Fanaka’s village as usual. The sky so bright to look up to and the air so dry and harsh. The ground felt like the floor of a furnace. Too hot to set foot on but not too hot for the poor and young Fanaka to work bare foot on. He had to run errands with no shoes and also play in that horrible condition.

The little boy was made fatherless three years ago, after two bullets had drilled into his father’s stomach. The bullets came from a shoot-out between rival poacher gangs. They came as stray bullets to Fanaka’s father who was having a busy day on his farm. Since the departure of Fanaka’s father, life became nothing but a very harsh harmattan to both Fanaka and his mother Aisha. Her husband’s farmland was snatched by his relatives after his death.

Aisha moved into Kenya in the early 1990s from Somalia. She was one of those lucky enough to have fled the country as soon as the Somalian Civil War started. She lost her parents during the outbreak. She made it into Kenya via the north. She met Fanaka’s father who without hesitation befriended and married her till he died three years ago. Her husband’s death was of great grief to her. She and her son suffered a lot from her neighbours who saw her as an alien. She fed her son with the little money she raised from selling nile perches on a small scale. Soon Fanaka had to quit school since she couldn’t afford paying. So he helped his mother in the fish market; when free from duty he wandered around the vegetation and hills of the village, enjoying nature.

  The Society of African Missions popularly known as SMA could have helped in their own little way. But it was a hard time trying to persuade the villagers about the need to put aside traditional religion and accept Christ, the Messiah. Just like the Jews expected a ‘Messiah’ who was going to lead in their war to be liberated from Rome. Such was the expectation of the villagers who’s minds were in the maze of paganism and atheism.

  Despite the failure of SMA in Christianising the villagers, all wasn’t lost. Fanaka Hamisi as six as he was, was more like the new soul who had been won for Christ. Young, high spirited and intelligent, Fanaka believed in God and was fascinated by the nativity story and even the life of Jesus Christ. Women are known to have a stronghold on their child’s religious life, but Aisha was more of an atheist.

She stopped believing in God when their civil war started and she saw what evil religious men did then. She never discouraged Fanaka when it came to Christianity. She was in full support of her son. Always coming to defend her son, when a villager mocked her son’s faith.

‘To be for God, you have to be like a child.’

Even in the hardship Fanaka faced at this tender and delicate stage of life, he kept on believing in what the missionaries taught him. Although when his father died, he was stunned a little. But with his mother by his side who kept on telling him to believe what he always believed despite her own disbelieve. Fanaka rose strong again in his faith. Even in poverty and uncertainty of breakfast and dinner, Fanaka kept seeing the beauty of God in the trees and wildlife around him. He even told his mother twice how he heard God’s voice in the wind-blown whistling trees. A child with no experience, but some colourful images from a children’s Bible. Fanaka became a freak among the other children. Over time he had no friend. He also had a lot of unanswered questions with no one to help.

Christmas was near, but the supply of fish was as good as nothing. Thanks to the sugarcane farm.

It was almost sunset, Fanaka was up for another wandering adventure of his own. He usually spoke to himself while working in the forest admiring the birds around and plucking sweet  smelling flowers.

With mud, sticks and undesirable things to play with, Fanaka never failed to derive pleasure from the nature around him.

The little and happy boy started his long walk deep into the remote highlands of Kenya. He was ready for a mini safari of seeing a herd of herbivores from afar.

A few kilometres in the forest.

There was a loud terrifying noise echoing round the highlands. It was the sound of agony. Powered by curiosity and bravery (sometimes termed as a child’s stupidity) Fanaka went further. The more he moved, the louder the sound grew. It was the sound of an animal in agony, the painful trumpeting of a baby elephant. The elephant was stuck in the muddy part of a small lake. The lake is usually a bathtub to soft bellied ferocious reptiles, crocodiles. But it was free today since at daytime the water is usually too hot and of no good to the crocs.

Wondering why a baby elephant is alone in this muddy wilderness, the calf had lost its mother to the ivory thieves. Just like how Fanaka lost his own father.

It was evident that the calf had been struggling for a long time, possibly two hours. Using its feet to wade off the boiling mud in the hope that it will walk out of the pool. Yet all its leg strokes proved fruitless.

As soon as Fanaka got into the elephant’s view, the struggling cute calf’s cry faded away slowly. Soon it became relaxed. Fanaka was on an elevated land mass, high above the pool. He motioned to descend down the cliff and help. Only for the elephant to cautiously trumpet, sounding a note of warning to the little boy not to risk entering the pool.

Reluctantly Fanaka sat on the mounted earth and kept gazing at the poor chubby creature who also maintained an affectionate eye contact with him. After a while the calf sat in the mud and kept watching Fanaka like he was her mother. The sun sank below the horizon and everywhere grew darker.

Two older boys of age 16 whom Fanaka knew from his village, were  passing by. Fanaka approached them, if they could use their ropes to pull out the baby elephant. But the boys with a tone of ridicule, replied him ‘call your white God to help you’

A few minutes after they were gone, the calf started crying, waving it’s trunk towards the other side of the lake. It was not long when Fanaka realised the mud was getting cooler meaning the crocodiles will be back for some cold bath and probably have the elephant for supper. That’s more like a good way to end the day, if you are a crocodile. All these made the calf cry again.

Fanaka sang a traditional Kenyan song, this made the elephant feel a little poised, it was fully night time.

Now it occurred to Fanaka the need to go home, he knew for sure his mother will be worried. He reluctantly stood up to go home. Again the calf trumpeted in sorrow as he waved her goodbye.

A few metres away from the calf, Fanaka felt deep sympathy for the her. So he looked around for a tree branch or something he could use as a walking platform for the calf to walk on. But he found none. Back he went to the calf, at his appearance the calf beamed happily a little and sat upon its muddy throne. A flash of thought told Fanaka to run home and bring help, but he knew better than that. His mother won’t let him out of her sight the moment he returns.

A little longer but much colder, Fanaka began to shiver under his light weight cotton t-shirt and knicker. The temperature had dropped rapidly. The moonlight and it’s grey shimmering reflection in the lake were the only source of illumination.

Fanaka waited like help was coming, he’s waiting to an adult’s perspective will look stupid. To the elephant it was a noble and warm gesture. As for Fanaka he had no explanation except his unusual love for animals.

Soon he heard voices from the dark forest nearby, accompanied by bright yellow beams of light. The owner of the voices were talking about an elephant crying and they seemed to be looking for it.

Fanaka stood up with a pounding heart, loud enough to betray any bravery left of him. He had the feeling he was about to face some merciless ivory thieves. With some courage, he strained his eyes to make a picture of the incoming guests. To his horror, he could see the rough outline of six men and their rifles.

They soon came close and then Fanaka knew he was safe. The six men were rangers from Lewa Wildlife Conservancy. The conservancy can be found at the south of Isiolo town and north of Mount Kenya. It’s home to endangered species like the black rhinoceros, Grevy’s zebra and sitatunga. It also houses the big five (Masai Lion, African Leopard, bush elephant, rhino and African buffalo).

Someone who appeared to be their leader spoke in a silky tone to Fanaka but asked why he risked being here at this time of the day. Young Hamisi explained the situation to them.

‘Unpacking of the kits in their backpack, some rope knotting skills, burning some calories.’

In no time the Lewa patrol team safely pulled out the calf. She threw her trunk around Fanaka as a sign of appreciation and gazing happily at the men who helped her out.

The head of the rangers a young looking fellow with a chocolate brown skin and tall figure like the other five, asked what Fanaka wanted as a christmas gift for the bravery he showed towards an endangered species. Without hesitation, Fanaka politely emphasised on the need to help his mum with a job and his intention of resuming school. With a smile on his face, the head of the Rangers, Mr Alex approved Fanaka’s request with a hug.

Mr Alex and two other rangers decided to walk Fanaka home with the good news. While the other three took a different part heading to Lewa with the calf using their patrol truck.

The elephant made a loud cry and ran towards Fanaka, who stroked it’s head. She didn’t want to leave Fanaka. All six men and Fanaka felt that emotional moment. With a sharp judgement Alex said ‘Fanaka has to go with this cute calf. I believe she will be fine with him.’ All six men escorted Fanaka home with the elephant.

After a round of scolding from Aisha and telling how depressed she was searching the neighbourhood for her only son. She thanked the rangers and hugged her son.

Alex took the moment to explain what bravery her son exhibited and that she was being offered a better job in Lewa Community. With the good news Aisha said to her son ‘you believed in God, prayed to him and saw him in nature and he finally blessed you.’ Aisha burst into joyful tears and wishing she believed in the God of her dear Fanaka.

On this day, December 22, 2013 Christmas just got rosy for Fanaka and Aisha. Fanaka was thankful for the gift of a better life and a good friend in the elephant he selflessly saved.

This is the story of Fanaka, the friend of the white God, like the people around him said.

Not all Christmas gifts come in colourful wrappers. Fanaka’s gift came through his passion, bravery, hope and most of all God.

Be awesome to someone. Happy Christmas!!!!


Original story composed by VictorMaria Ajayi Abayomi

Published by Owls and Robins

For more short stories and poems such as ‘CASHEW NUTS: the tale’ by VictorMaria visit:

For questions/enquiries, contact via email:



It was air in motion, the sound was too soft to the ears and appealing to the senses. The air was quite crisp, dust-filled and ice cold. The moon-lit skies looked like the red night goblin was about to shower bars of chocolate and descend with his wrapped toys. The dry air Harmattan brought, felt like it could dry up a wet coat in seconds. Some sweet jazz Christmas music was playing in the background, Nat King Cole for sure. From the old turntable came the music, it was well mixed with the breeze thus presenting a never-before heard rendition of the song.

    Once again the breeze blew heavily, trying to have its way with the open crackling fire, which was blazing some metres away from the large hut. Earlier in the week, the cold North-East Wind had brought along some wild fire. One happy family was sitting around the fire. A man in turban and his wife with their handsome boy and cute little girl. All dressed in warm woolly glittering sweaters and thick trousers.

    They were all engrossed in what the father of the house was saying. The family almost forgot the wild fire had made them homeless and helpless, forcing them to settle for the large abandoned hut. In between, they seemed to be chewing something. Of course, roasted nuts from cashew in a flat plate. That was all they had left to eat. Also to their pleasure was the fine sweet smell of burnt firewood spiced with minty leaves, which was escaping from their fire. The story-telling father drank some fairly warm palm wine as he spoke. He was telling them tales/legends of christmas and santa from all over the world. Even the chewing horse relaxing next to the family, was enjoying the story-telling session.

    Soon he closed his story book, at that moment the record stopped playing. Together the whole family made and sang a remix of ‘the Christmas song’ replacing the first line with ‘Cashew nuts, eaten by an open fire’. Half way through the song, they heard a loud bang close to their hut, something had landed in front of it. It was a large box filled with the finest swiss chocolate, other yummies, gifts for the whole family and most of all, a map telling them about a place of hope along the West. On the right-hand side of the box was a large label with the words ‘From Santa with love’.

    The family, now relieved from the sudden heart-pounding sound and excited by the arrival of the gifts, cheerfully and gratefully they started their song all over. This time it sounded like a ‘reprise/outro’ to an epic album.

    This was the night before Christmas and Harmattan just got more harsh.

Happy Christmas!



Swirling between mirages and reality

Lost a glimse of the truth

Seems like it happened outside my head or inside

Not sure which

Bones weak to the marrow

And I seem to enjoy every moment that passes

I feel soft from the inside

Can’t clearly express this feeling

Seem to be losing it

I tend to have detailed reasoning on every wave of light I see

My mouth feels somehow – can’t explain that

My eyes wide open, sleepy but can’t sleep

Feeling a sudden urge for something sugary or fruity

I seem to hear my boom box beating louder than usual, even the flexible pumps I can feel and hear them breathing

Also seems like I can hear some impossible decibel of waves

Everywhere silent like a crypt….hold on

Who says a crypt is silent? At least some bad-arse ghosts could be chilling off-grave and making some noise.

Anyway everywhere seems so silent….but all seems noisy…

The ticking of my wrist watch that seems inaudible deep in my wardrobe

Seems to be one of the factors of noise..

I think I can also hear my silent phone sounding like a gas leakage

I feel some ounce of courage…very unusual ‘dutch courage’

After a long battle with reality

My eyes take me to dreamland

In my dream I get confused with reality. Series of funny dreams pass across my skull like an EMP. After what I thought was 10 hours but just 3 hours. I hear the birds tweeting and a big bang on my door. The swings open and I see my friend… I guess he too had a hell of a night. What scares me is not his swollen eyes nor his funny look but the glass of drink for two and a brand new bottle of vodka. The same drink responsible for all my little drama before my 3 hour night rest. Still can’t distinguish some of last night’s action from reality or dream.What else can I do than to accept my friend’s lovely gesture…..more vodka please


Whatever happened to dreamland
Where the beautiful ones were brought to life
Where the witty ones emerged from

Whatever happened to dreamland
It used to be a warm space
It used to be a case of harmony

Whatever happened to dreamland

It used to be where roses bloomed
It used to be where seedlings sprang forth
It used to be a lushie garden at spring

Whatever happened to dreamland
It used to be a woollen sweeter at winter

Whatever happened to dreamland
Where you and I originated from
A place we cherished so much

Whatever happened to dreamland
The first cradle she had
The first home he had

Whatever happened to dreamland
The place where miracles happened
And where the wishes of mothers came true.

This is what happened to dreamland
It became Auschwitz
It became a place where the beautiful ones became frightened of
It was no more the place for the witty

This is what happened to dreamland
It became a cold dark spot
It became a place with no harmony but cries of the innocent

This is what happened to dreamland
It became a place where roses withered before they ever bloomed
It became a bitter winter for seedlings
It became a tundra even in spring

This is what happened to dreamland
It became a torn woollen sweater at winter
A sweater that couldn’t insulate the coldness of the world

This is what happened to dreamland
It became where you and I became uncertain of the new ones
It became a place where not everyone might cherish

This is what happened to dreamland
It became her sarcophagus
It became his home of destruction

This is what happened to dreamland
It became where miracles were scared away
And where the wishes of some mothers might not come true

This is what happened to dreamland
Strength was lost to hold the fruits.
Rainforest turned desert
Moses’ basket turned to a living sarcophagus
Cradle turned coffin
Carcass for vultures of the labs, scientific vultures
Slaughterhouse of the innocent babies, condemned to death before life by the misdeeds of their fathers and mothers.
Fathers and mothers by accident
Parents not by will but by lust
Parents lost in lust
Parents who enjoyed the lust but didn’t honour the consequences of their acts.
Parents who refused to digest the ugly side of the stolen mangoes.

It became a place of no single option
It became a place of double options
It was meant to mean life onlyIMG_20150327_122117
But now it means life or death
A skull case
It became Auschwitz