ከክፍሉ ጥግ የሚወጣው ሙዚቃ ቤቱን ነፋሻም ትካዜ ዘርቶበታል::

ከብርጭቆዬ ጋር እፋጠጣለው:: ልሰክር ነው:: መስከር- የወትሮው ሳይሆን የክቱን:: በጠጣር ወንበሬ ላይ ተጎልቼ ደብረዘይት ጎዳናዎች ላይ ልሰክር ነው:: ወደ ደብረዘይት ፀይም መንገዶች- ወዳጣበቧት ባህርዛፎች ሙዚቃው ይወስደኛል:: ሙዚቃው ግን አይደለም- ከዜማው ጋር የቀለጠው የ'ሙሉቀን' ድምፅ እንጂ:: ስወላገድ- መደገፊያ ፍለጋ የተጠናበሩ አይኖቼን ሳንገላታቸው- የምደፋበት ደጃፍ የአጎቴ በር ነው:: ሚዘርረኝ የመጠጡ ጥፊ ሳይሆን ትዝታ ነው:: ቢስቡት ሃያ አመት ሚጎተት::

ጥቃቅን ትውስታዎች አንጎሌ ውስጥ ይዋህዳሉ:: የታፈነችው የመኪናው ስፒከር- መስኮቱን ለንፋስ ዝቅ ሳደርገው ሚሾልከው ባለጌ አዋራ- የፀሀይ አራራይ- ከስንት አንድ ሚያናውጠን ወጣ ገባ መንገድ:: የአጎቴ እጆች ጠይም ነበሩ- ሲሾፍር ከሚቀያይራቸው ሶስት ካኔተራዎች ውጪ ሌላ ልብስ አይደፍርም:: ለመንገድ ስንወጣ ምናዘወትራቸው ሁለት የመዝሙር ቴፖች ነበሩ- የሙሉቀን መለሰ እና ደረጀ ከበደ:: የዛሬ ምርጫችን ሙሌ ነበር:: ጥቂት እንደተጏዝን ከአልበሙ አንዷን ትራክ መላልሶ ይሰማት ነበር:: በጣቶቹ የአኮርዲዮኑን ስልት ይጫወታል:: በሙሉቀን ግጥሞች ውስጥ ፈርጣማ መተማመን አለ:: አጎቴን በከፊል አየዋለው- ጠይም ፊቱ በደማቅ ፈገግታው ይበራል::

እመለሳለው- ወደ ብርጭቆዬ- ከፊል ከተሞላች:: ራሴን ከመጠጡ ውስጥ ስሰመጥ አየዋለው:: ከጥግ ሚሰራጨውንም ሙሉቀንን ለመስማት እጥራለው:: ዘማሪ ከመሆኑ በፊት የዘፈነው ዘፈን ነው:: 'ይረገም ይህ ልቤ...' አያለ ይቀጥላል:: እራሴን ደብረዘይትም - ወንበሩ ላይ አገኘዋለው::

ያ መዝሙሩና አሁን የምሰማው ዘፈኑ አንጎሌ ውስጥ ይጋጩብኛል:: ጉሮሮዬን እያሞቀ ሚወርደውን መጠጥ በላኩኝ ቁጥር ራሴን ቀስ በቀስ ሳጣ ታወቀኝ:: ማን እንደ ነበርኩ እና ወደ ማን ነት እየመጣው እንደሆነ ጠይቃለው:: የለብታ ክልል ውስጥ ነኝ:: ልቤ አያዳላም- ወደ ትላንትም-ወደ ዛሬም ይሄዳል::

አራሴን ብርጭቆው ውስጥ አገኘዋለው:: እየሰመጥኩ ነው:: ሚሰማኝ ካለ ለመጣራት እጆቼን አውለበልባለው:: የታዳፈነ ጩሀቴን አሰማለው- ግድ ሚሰጠው ካለ:: በህይወት እና ሞት ዳር ላይ ነኝ:: ለሁለቱም አንድ እርማጃ ይቀረኛል:: እፈዛለው:: አይኖቼ ፍካታቸውን ይረሳሉ:: ልሄድ ነው- ወዴት- ወደማን.... አላ--ቅ-...


( የመሸባት አስተናጋጅ ጠረፔዛውን ተንተርሶ ወደተኛው ደንበኛ አቅንታ በሆዱ የትንጋለለውን ብርጭቆ አነሳች- የፈሰሰውን መጠጥ በትንሽዬ ቀይ ጨርቅ አበሰች )

*በፅሁፉ ውስጥ የተጠቀሰው መዝሙር ከስር አለ::

B’Fkr

I’m dead now, probably and hopefully. It’s been an ache of a life I spent until I realized I could die. Until I knew I was powerful but not ruthless enough. It would take a small slip and a bang to the head to forgo this world. It’s lovely how we are potent enough to both live and die.

That’s a seemly introduction. I would like to tell you my name, but I don’t want you to get attached. I’m now dead. If you came a bit earlier, maybe we could’ve had a cup of coffee or more.

My mama knew everything. She was a brilliant head. She knew in a blink of an eye if something was wrong with me. She has tenderness in her arms like no other. She smelled edible, endless even if I took a bite of her every second. Her eyes were obliterating, in a kind way. She was powerful beyond measure in the base of love that she was my everything. And everything was she.

We people, even though our blood is colored red and our lungs share the same air, we dearly mis-feel each others pain. We don’t feel a swords pierce until it’s our turn.

I saw her cry one day, along the ledge where mosses grew abundantly and it seemed green. She was hiding her incapabilities of being human, for me, to have someone to look up to. To have someone omnipotent enough to sustain the hardship of life.

Maybe I should go, I thought. We live amidst millions of world and I’ll probably find mine.

B’Fkr

🍃

ሁሉንም ምናደርገው እንደምንኖር ለማሳየት ነው:: ህይወት እንዳለን:: ነፍስ እንዳለን:: ተስፋ እንዳለን::

በለሊት ጋውኔ ሰርጎ የመሬቱ ቅዝቃዜ ተሰማኝ:: ለሞቀው ስጋዬ እንጂ ለበደነችው ነፍሴ አዲስ ስሜት አይደለም:: ነፍሴን ከበረዳት ሰንብቷል::

ከዛፎች ጋር የሰነበተ ፍቅር አለኝ:: እንዲሁ ዛፍ ሲወዛወዝ ማየት፣ ቅጠል በንፋስ ጉልበት ስትቀጠፍ፣ ስትወርድ፣ ስትወዛወዝ፣ ስታርፍ ማየት ለነፍሴ ሚሰጣት ምልዓት አለ:: ለዛች ቅፅበት እወዳታለው::

ቅጠሏን እንደማየትም የሚያመኝ ነገር የለም:: ፈጣሪ በሀይሉ ስላበረታው ንፋስ አማራለው:: ለወናው አየር እጮሃለው:: ባላየውም በደመናት መሃል ወዳለው ወደ 'እሱ' የቅጠሏን ስሞታ አደርሳለው:: እንባዬ ሲሞላ፣ ጉንጬም ሲርስ ይሰማኛል:: በሌላ አለም ውስጥ እኔ እሷ ነኝ:: በዛ አለም እሷም ለኔ እያዘነች ነው:: ቅጠሏ ከእንግልት ስታርፍ ነፍሴ ትሰክናለች:: ይደክመኛል:: ገልጬው ወደመጣሁት አንሶላ እመለሳለው::

@lukeyos

ይሁዳ

B’Fkr
@lukeyos

I defer to think that many stupid arguments could be easily avoided by thinking the ‘other’ person is sadly ‘mentally challenged’.

Thank you, Ma.

It’s cold and abyss.

She sits unknowingly, at the same spot of the cafe, where she first realized her love. This spot, where at first it seemed bounded, a strain when they tried to sit altogether, felt presently endless. Suddenly the air smells like petrichor, a sense she want to share. The dribbles of the coffees that abundantly resided on the table give it a rough stature. In her scrolls, the first call to a problem was to run away from it. The air held judgment, as if saying she was wrong with its stretching freeze.

—-

‘Call me back’
‘Hey come on, uhm, let’s try’
‘Really?’
‘Uhhuhhuh…’
‘years… years for fucking what’

His fingers reside to his phone’s surface repetitively, to be punished by hopeless encounter. He clamps his hands together. The sudden pinch of coldness weave through his entirety. He thinks of the old times, which were just yesterday a few moments ago before they became a memory to stretch for. He reminds his arms of the fondness they reserve just for her, when she ran on to them to avoid her agonies, in to now when they became what she ran away from.

—-


Scared of her phone, facing downwards. Scared of finding something powerful to move her from her sit. Something to persuade her there is still a string of hope to hold on to. But she doesn’t want to. She remembers the soft feel of his shirt when she rested her head on it. The place of solace she sought for. When her fingers found his, to forget of all the gaps and torments, to be one and exclusive from the world, the world that pushed them back both together.

——

His eyes find a way of finding her in anything. He search for the last day they found each other with voracity. Is the love he is seeking for in the memories? He looks on to the streets she ran to. He looks at the darkness surfacing to the sky. He strive for her presence which is heavy in her absence. So then to what? To resonate any sense on to loving him again?



(It’s a scare to realize that love stops to be an infatuation after a while, but a constant dedication to a choice, in which their are two possibilities, to love and to love not)

B’Fkr

1

It would be evening soon, and all the things we fought for will disperse in to the darkness and we will seek a succor for our souls.

I walk in between the trees, with their green shades shadowed by the night. I whistle ‘we almost lost Detroit’ while walking back to my place of solitude. The freckled moon shies away but I still can feel her reflection. I think about the day. I think about the repetition, the cycle that incorporates our youth. That sunken the blight hope within us. I think about home, how I found myself so far from it, mentally and physically.

The keyhole threatens my patience when trying to open the door with my keys. After few struggles I find myself in my little space, in a place I call my own. There is this breeze in it which feels static, unmoving. Life feels bounded in it. I create a little movement as in to cozen the living out of the demised. I put a tune from the records and search for my phone, to find a reminder of my presence by calling others and asking them about their dismays.

‘Hey, J’
‘Look who’s breathing’

His voice crackles upon mine. We find time in this tiny gaps in life. We lament to each other through the speaker of our phone where all we wanted was to be back to our school afternoons, rolling around while arguing about things with no weight. Carefree, blind and trusting. We both try to mentions our future where in the wants we suffice we seek for the past.

‘I called my Sis few days before, she is saying she’s having some difficulties with the kid you know, that bastard of husband she has is anything but useless… am planning to use the weekend to visit her, and if you’re free, we can roll together’

I listen to him until the invitation, a feeling tingles in my body, a sudden rush of going back to home. I remember his sister, her long hairs falling carefully on her shoulders, the tanned color of her skin, and her quirky laugh. Coming to terms of what her life has flawed to, as if I’m in a better state.

‘Lemme think about it you know, my work don’t give me that much freedom J’

‘IK, IK, man, jus gimme a call if any thing comes up’

‘Aight’

We come to the end but afraid of the goodbyes. It might be a day or a month before our next call but we pull the strength to say the word, bye, even if it meant such a space, a space where anything could happen.

B’Fkr