Everyone deserves to be happy.
I’m still standing here
in the silent darkness
waiting for you to light it up
hoping that counting the clouds
would bring time close
and the whistling wind
would carry us home-
I hate that I love you,sometimes
I would have you in my hands
like you were my child
but I’m still standing here
waiting for your face.
RœK§®©
Vampires have captivated our imagination for centuries. Despite limited (and fairly predictable) on-screen deaths by stake, sunlight, or a splash of holy water, the sci-fi/horror genre is still going strong (if you ignore the recent Twilight ‘saga’). Old school classics such as The Lost Boys and Bram Stoker’s Dracula are still as watchable today as they were 25 years ago. (Some may argue that perhaps the genre reached its heyday with the wonderfully witty and excellent Buffy the Vampire Slayer.) There is something about these fictional beings that fascinate us. Like Sirens before them, vampires seem to lure us in and, for some unfathomable reason, many of us find them utterly compelling.
You won’t be surprised to discover that the mother of all vampires lived during the Pleistocene.
Belonging to the subfamily Desmodontinae, vampire bats can only be found in Central and South America. Contrary to old tales of blood…
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The unrelenting arms
stretching for the earth’s end
fingers crossing whilst grasping
and the hollowness fails them
mad clouds rummaging
a strict sky glaring
the cold vacuum a mistake
yet with it was more offered
more was hard to come by
and just a bit of a prickle
would life return.
RœK§®©
Hearts falling; arms calling
voices fading; yet wailing
bodies rolling;on the torn ground
once pronounced beauty-a rumshackle
and tears won’t stop dashing
past the murky crenated faces
unsorted screams staggering
lovely pieces crambling-
and all before the eyes
merciless; like wild fire
lovers’ flowers strewn on abandoned paths
humble creatures limping blind
Gullies turned abyss
the tired sky drops its head
all kneel before a stern earth
and it looks away in spite.
Really Ronnie?That’s all you’ve got to share to the entire world?Wake up.Tap your brain.Damp the sh*t you’re writing in a bin.It’s a new world,remember?and you write worn-out ideas.Simply…really..stop it!
At least those were the spite-filled thoughts that dashed across my burdened mind as I sat at a laptop,my eyes drunk with exhaustion.No.Not physically tired.Simply on the horns of a dilemma on whether what I was working on was worth it or lacking the oomph.
I had stretched a few muscles on a few pages of my book.It must have been 68 pages or so.It was dim in the confines of my room as I specifically cherished such an atmosphere for writing.All were asleep but me and I could feel the strength of the silence.I thought about how popular my book would become and utilised by the posterity and grinned weakly.Then came the screaming thoughts that I felt had they been human,they would have sent me sprawling on the floor.
All my life I have wished to be a recognized writer and a successful one like Maya Angelou or J K Rowlings.Yes, I have my studies gazing at me,the books longing to feel the strokes of my fingers and the letters yearning to face me.And then what?
Some of my friends had also questioned my bizarre concern for literature or so and had felt it was such a waste of precious hours spent working on something you are uncertain of its future.
And my thoughts kept knocking the door to my mind,simply dissatisfied and disappointed.I glanced at the pages on the screen and sipped my ribena,and realized I was agreeing with my thoughts.
what for?You are a student.No one knows you in this world.Are you sure the book will pull through?Are you having the right audience?
I stood furiously and switched off the machine.I glared at the reference books on the table and plodded across the room to switch on the lights.I felt so empty and began rummaging through my study books.I felt that life was all about books and books and no more.If I had talent,I would have joined a talent school then..?What was I doing at school?Afterall,the book was just an uncertain attempt.The”let it win medals if it will” type.
The following morning I woke up with a start,falsely believing I had lifted the weight of dejection off my shoulders.At school I met a friend who loved writing as I did..or as I did before.I glanced uninterestingly at him and paced on for my classes,but he was quick to notice the weird face and called me to him.He asked about how life was and bla bla and finally settled on the question that stupefied me at first,then went on to scare the hell out of me:Are you done with your writing?
Of course I stared away then back at him. I told him my story and he laughed.I felt stupid but what he told me later let me feel even more stupid.
He narrated to me the story of J K Rowlings.I’m yet to find out if it’s real but the mere skeleton of her life experience and how she rose from rags to riches startled me.
Here was a poor young lady working at a bar and kept writing her story on receipts.She presented her works to various firms which were all rejected.But one firm, though uncertain whether her works would do any miracle to grab the world’s attention,decided to give it a try.Incredibly,the book sold billions of copies within a week.A book that had been written from scratch and rejected by many firms.
My friend went on to narrate how valuable her life is now,and how priceless her books are.You might have read this initially rejected book-Harry Potter.
I felt challenged.I felt an idiot.What was I thinking?I simply could not call my talent trash.Maybe I would one day rise to the spotlight like J K.Maybe my books would sell millions of copies.I just had to keep believing that I was doing my best and let go of all the “cold”.
That night,in my room,with dim light still my priority,I worked on my book till morning and found myself stroking page 189.It was like a thrust suddenly inflicted on my legs that left me springing almost flying.
And I’m still flying…
I know I’ll touch the sky..
Watch me.
keep working!!..
What rules should a guy striving to be a modern gentleman live by? It’s an interesting question I think about a lot — especially with situations I encounter daily in the entertainment industry. However, even though times have changed, many characteristics that define a true gentleman are timeless. Regardless of where you live, let’s strive for high standards and bring back a few traditions we’ve lost over the years. I have you covered, here’s how:
1. Don’t be scared of saying “no.” We are all busy. While it’s important to make time for our passions, it’s also important to not overcommit. It’s better to say you can’t do something then to not follow through with your promise.
2. Greet new acquaintances with a firm handshake and eye contact. Show you are confident and genuinely interested in the people you encounter.
3. Keep confidences. In other words, don’t violate the trust of your friends.
4. Be the guy a woman wants…
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Emotions run deep, hidden inside are feelings so strong,
Beneath a layer of human appearance rests another side.
What hurts in the mind also hurts within a souls heart,
Everyone hurts sometimes, maybe the wanting for a friend.
Things that don’t go your way, thoughts of a haunting yesterday,
Everyone hurts in a moment, quietly they suffer not wanting sympathy,
Others scream out in agony, help me! they say, fix this painful day.
Everyone hurts sometimes, life can be beautiful or it can be unkind.
Keith Garrett
And the window bellows
at the feel of a new touch
creak;crack
kick;unrelenting
“I want her back.”
But life could offer none
To replace his diamond
life could promise one
to pilfer his glee
make away with it
and damp it in a bin
rid;ne’re to be seen
the lovely window
once full of pomp
with it pleads a new arm
that it wilt open
or crash just by-
This is the story
of the piece of paper
that with it carried emotion
and of it was said of affection
It that fastened all nuts
was void of dejection
The piece of paper-white or red
Of whom cruel hands
had pilfered
torn it in two and further;
its residence an abandoned bin
The cry of a piece of paper
wailing whilst staggering
in the dark clouds:
drowning when clutching
on a resigned pole
Wailing for a savior
tossing and turning
waiting and wanting
wilt the savior saveth?
damped bin-rumshackle
its present past
its content vast
but hollow
Pieces of paper strewn on the floor
neither ready to gather the bits.
Kihali Says. 