2
Through the rolled down windows a mist of sound blows in. With the array of sunlight hitting my chest I sense a warm sensation. A feeling of cruising to home, to where I crawled my first steps on. I see J, holding the steering wheel with loose, sharing a silence with me. I think about the distance I crossed to be who I am from who I were and how tiresome it was. I think about the memories that rage in my skull, about the kisses I shared under the canopy of the trees that could cry leaves if asked about.
‘I miss this’
He Says, his eyes still on the road. Scanning the green shades reaching the road and the warmth.
‘I do too, J’
It’s around sunset and the sun seeks its refuge. The sudden altercation of the people scouring on to the main road, the lights starting to escape from the bars that revive back to life, everything breathes nostalgia. A brisk puff, a smell of childhood sits in my lungs as I soak it in. A big smile broadens on our faces.
We escape through the trees to find ourselves into his mother’s house, where his sister settled in after her daughter’s birth. We go back to our teenage years when we step on to the stairs we spent our nights sitting on and trying to figure out the right spot for the radio to work to listen to football news. We walk through memories altogether and dearly miss them as if we haven’t lived them, as if the moments weren’t enough and we need it to stretch, loop it and relive it a thousand times more.
He knock with his keys dangling. A quick steps to the door and we find his sister ‘S’ with a loose hair resting on her face, and a sudden wave hits my chest. A remembrance of what we once were strikes me like a swift thunder. A years clatter might be forgotten in our dash of memory but not erased, it exists in a tiny realm surrounded by our being with unspoken grief and unrequited love till its moment to spill out and flood.
B’Fkr
Through the rolled down windows a mist of sound blows in. With the array of sunlight hitting my chest I sense a warm sensation. A feeling of cruising to home, to where I crawled my first steps on. I see J, holding the steering wheel with loose, sharing a silence with me. I think about the distance I crossed to be who I am from who I were and how tiresome it was. I think about the memories that rage in my skull, about the kisses I shared under the canopy of the trees that could cry leaves if asked about.
‘I miss this’
He Says, his eyes still on the road. Scanning the green shades reaching the road and the warmth.
‘I do too, J’
It’s around sunset and the sun seeks its refuge. The sudden altercation of the people scouring on to the main road, the lights starting to escape from the bars that revive back to life, everything breathes nostalgia. A brisk puff, a smell of childhood sits in my lungs as I soak it in. A big smile broadens on our faces.
We escape through the trees to find ourselves into his mother’s house, where his sister settled in after her daughter’s birth. We go back to our teenage years when we step on to the stairs we spent our nights sitting on and trying to figure out the right spot for the radio to work to listen to football news. We walk through memories altogether and dearly miss them as if we haven’t lived them, as if the moments weren’t enough and we need it to stretch, loop it and relive it a thousand times more.
He knock with his keys dangling. A quick steps to the door and we find his sister ‘S’ with a loose hair resting on her face, and a sudden wave hits my chest. A remembrance of what we once were strikes me like a swift thunder. A years clatter might be forgotten in our dash of memory but not erased, it exists in a tiny realm surrounded by our being with unspoken grief and unrequited love till its moment to spill out and flood.
B’Fkr
3
It’s a quick smile, a flash, scaled on her face before it broke in to sadness, a feel her face seems to have gotten used to. We hug welcome. We embrace each other with undone voracity. She welcomes us in to her home, where the child crawls on the mat. We share turns holding him and laugh of how the baby’s groan symbolizes with J, his uncle, who smile with bliss and pride.
It’s soon night, and we surround the table with hunger. We talk through meals and laugh, we talk about memories and how far they feel. We cry about our age which ripened and deformed in front of our eyes. We lack people to blame. We end up on the same scroll of acceptance. We look at the clock ticking to find ourselves on the brink of midnight. ‘S’ weep in distend of the day and excuse us for the night, informing us where we will sleep. We say sweet dreams, as if they were by wish.
I go through the rooms. I find pictures nailed on the walls. J’s father with his green suit and straight face. I search for a resemblance to J. His cheeks and bright eyes become more evident. I stand by the library, seemingly lifeless, untouched for many years, dusted with ignorance. I probe through the books. I find the ‘mourning diary’, a diary written by Ronald Barthes after the passing of his mother. I look through the pages and feel the mourn I read 10 years ago. It’s then I hear a slight cry of the baby, and a sigh from his mother as she roll from her bed, carrying him and trying to sooth him with her voice. I stand there listening to her singing, swimming in nostalgia of our high school years. I perceive a reality of such living in alternate universe where in all the possibilities many had gone wrong. I find myself in a wry, as I quickly settle in my bed, yearning myself ‘sweet dreams’ as if they were by wish.
B’Fkr
It’s a quick smile, a flash, scaled on her face before it broke in to sadness, a feel her face seems to have gotten used to. We hug welcome. We embrace each other with undone voracity. She welcomes us in to her home, where the child crawls on the mat. We share turns holding him and laugh of how the baby’s groan symbolizes with J, his uncle, who smile with bliss and pride.
It’s soon night, and we surround the table with hunger. We talk through meals and laugh, we talk about memories and how far they feel. We cry about our age which ripened and deformed in front of our eyes. We lack people to blame. We end up on the same scroll of acceptance. We look at the clock ticking to find ourselves on the brink of midnight. ‘S’ weep in distend of the day and excuse us for the night, informing us where we will sleep. We say sweet dreams, as if they were by wish.
I go through the rooms. I find pictures nailed on the walls. J’s father with his green suit and straight face. I search for a resemblance to J. His cheeks and bright eyes become more evident. I stand by the library, seemingly lifeless, untouched for many years, dusted with ignorance. I probe through the books. I find the ‘mourning diary’, a diary written by Ronald Barthes after the passing of his mother. I look through the pages and feel the mourn I read 10 years ago. It’s then I hear a slight cry of the baby, and a sigh from his mother as she roll from her bed, carrying him and trying to sooth him with her voice. I stand there listening to her singing, swimming in nostalgia of our high school years. I perceive a reality of such living in alternate universe where in all the possibilities many had gone wrong. I find myself in a wry, as I quickly settle in my bed, yearning myself ‘sweet dreams’ as if they were by wish.
B’Fkr
4
Maybe, I wonder, still wrapped in my bed sheets, trapping the warmth, embracing the morning, meloding with the birds on the porch.
The baby’s cry marks the beginning of our day. We stand around with our morning groans, saying ‘good morning’, coupling it with ‘how did you sleep?’. I struggle to speak about my night full of trouble and wrath, full off dismay about my past. I reside to my usual response, ‘it was good.’
I see S in her messy bun and unfinished sleep running around, telling us to settle around the table, to eat breakfast and discuss our day plan. J persuade us to go out to a spot he knows for lunch. We agree with nothing to rebut with.
It’s lunch and I find myself in a flannel shirt and black cropped trousers. I enjoy the freedom and how it stretch. I see S with the baby waiting in front of the car while J adjusts the seats. We drive around through the trees that never knew drought. We fly in to the wind that pierces the day in to break. We love the sounds that collapse, that mash to give this melody, this melody called life.
‘Aren’t you going to visit your auntie?’
I look for words to brace the meaning I want to elude. I wait and wait till a response magically surfaces on the tip of my tongue. With all the wait I square back to silence, to a stutter that doesn’t even result to a word.
‘I know it’s been tough couple of years but you will have to eventually come around’
‘I know J, I know but…’
Language fails again, fails again to connect me to my wants. We remain silent till we reach our destination, a little restaurant with nothing but full of nostalgia. We walk around the tables to notice familiar places which feel distant. We order food with the aroma of yesterday. We dig in to it and smile. The tastes clicking all the right memories. We order some drinks and listen to the music that spreads throughout the room.
I hold the baby when both of them go to wash their hands. I try to be playful, to be noisy and joyful. I look at his innocence and purity. I channel about our lives, about joy taken so soon with violence that didn’t have to do anything with us. This world we call home has been nothing but repellent to our skins, nothing but a chalk on our pure chastity.
B’Fkr
Maybe, I wonder, still wrapped in my bed sheets, trapping the warmth, embracing the morning, meloding with the birds on the porch.
The baby’s cry marks the beginning of our day. We stand around with our morning groans, saying ‘good morning’, coupling it with ‘how did you sleep?’. I struggle to speak about my night full of trouble and wrath, full off dismay about my past. I reside to my usual response, ‘it was good.’
I see S in her messy bun and unfinished sleep running around, telling us to settle around the table, to eat breakfast and discuss our day plan. J persuade us to go out to a spot he knows for lunch. We agree with nothing to rebut with.
It’s lunch and I find myself in a flannel shirt and black cropped trousers. I enjoy the freedom and how it stretch. I see S with the baby waiting in front of the car while J adjusts the seats. We drive around through the trees that never knew drought. We fly in to the wind that pierces the day in to break. We love the sounds that collapse, that mash to give this melody, this melody called life.
‘Aren’t you going to visit your auntie?’
I look for words to brace the meaning I want to elude. I wait and wait till a response magically surfaces on the tip of my tongue. With all the wait I square back to silence, to a stutter that doesn’t even result to a word.
‘I know it’s been tough couple of years but you will have to eventually come around’
‘I know J, I know but…’
Language fails again, fails again to connect me to my wants. We remain silent till we reach our destination, a little restaurant with nothing but full of nostalgia. We walk around the tables to notice familiar places which feel distant. We order food with the aroma of yesterday. We dig in to it and smile. The tastes clicking all the right memories. We order some drinks and listen to the music that spreads throughout the room.
I hold the baby when both of them go to wash their hands. I try to be playful, to be noisy and joyful. I look at his innocence and purity. I channel about our lives, about joy taken so soon with violence that didn’t have to do anything with us. This world we call home has been nothing but repellent to our skins, nothing but a chalk on our pure chastity.
B’Fkr
5
7 years ago,
He walks into the kitchen, upon his aunt who slices the onion with rapacity. There is a cool breeze that surfaces between them. The air holds a cloud of strain. It’s all a war in silence until his aunt speaks.
‘They said you’re cutting your classes’
He stand there with a quiet that’s bore with shame and nothingness. Anything he say wouldn’t matter now.
‘Do you know how much I sacrifice for you? How my hands tremble with cold every damn morning I go to work when everyone is still in bed? Do you know every sweat that -…’
This goes on for minutes until the minutes flood to hours. He stands still with silence, with his head bowed. Every word bounces of the walls and echoes, until he hears it repeatedly. He pleads his case with reticence.
‘It’s your mother’s word that holds me every day when you disappoint the shit out of me. That forces me to gather all my madness together but oh I can’t from now on! I can’t see your ungrateful face coming through my damn door every single day. Your tiny side hustle, this art shit you try to make serious ain’t gonna provide us with bread, we are not given that luxury. We aren’t given that freedom. So until you figure it out your shit I don’t want you coming to this home from now on.’
Still a scream trapped in silence cover his face. He tries to ride this storm, this wave of agony.
‘And do you know what saddens me more? Your dead mother. Your mother who fought for you. You aren’t living up to her death. You are-‘
‘Don’t bring my mom in to this!’
He shouts with a sob in his throat. He screams and wobbles close to her with each word more firm than the previous. He wrenches with his hands until they get close to his aunts neck. Her eyes googling out with a sudden fear of realization that a kid she sought her years for raised his arms for dissent. A kid not hers but whom she called son hated her to a front of coercion. She yells to him to get out of sight, to pack his things and never step on her door again. He vaults out, gets a couple of clothes and a picture. He walks away without looking back. The darkness welcomes him with a peaceful rush, with eternity bounded.
B’Fkr
7 years ago,
He walks into the kitchen, upon his aunt who slices the onion with rapacity. There is a cool breeze that surfaces between them. The air holds a cloud of strain. It’s all a war in silence until his aunt speaks.
‘They said you’re cutting your classes’
He stand there with a quiet that’s bore with shame and nothingness. Anything he say wouldn’t matter now.
‘Do you know how much I sacrifice for you? How my hands tremble with cold every damn morning I go to work when everyone is still in bed? Do you know every sweat that -…’
This goes on for minutes until the minutes flood to hours. He stands still with silence, with his head bowed. Every word bounces of the walls and echoes, until he hears it repeatedly. He pleads his case with reticence.
‘It’s your mother’s word that holds me every day when you disappoint the shit out of me. That forces me to gather all my madness together but oh I can’t from now on! I can’t see your ungrateful face coming through my damn door every single day. Your tiny side hustle, this art shit you try to make serious ain’t gonna provide us with bread, we are not given that luxury. We aren’t given that freedom. So until you figure it out your shit I don’t want you coming to this home from now on.’
Still a scream trapped in silence cover his face. He tries to ride this storm, this wave of agony.
‘And do you know what saddens me more? Your dead mother. Your mother who fought for you. You aren’t living up to her death. You are-‘
‘Don’t bring my mom in to this!’
He shouts with a sob in his throat. He screams and wobbles close to her with each word more firm than the previous. He wrenches with his hands until they get close to his aunts neck. Her eyes googling out with a sudden fear of realization that a kid she sought her years for raised his arms for dissent. A kid not hers but whom she called son hated her to a front of coercion. She yells to him to get out of sight, to pack his things and never step on her door again. He vaults out, gets a couple of clothes and a picture. He walks away without looking back. The darkness welcomes him with a peaceful rush, with eternity bounded.
B’Fkr
6
The day ends on a purple note. The clouds run toward the night. J turns on the lights of the car. We scare the darkness away. We love definitions, we love our differences, banality horrifies us. In this room we call universe, meaning lose it sense during darkness or death.
We gallop through streets we used to live in. We seek with our eyes for similarities in our past that still exist. We mug in the thin air. We listen to music. We tune in Jhene Aiko. We melt in her voice. We sync lyrics we remember. We exist in the moment and no other matters. In the loop all we weep about is how to make this few minutes stretch to eternity, dance till our limbs fall, cry until our eyes bleed white. All this blue dream spill till reality slaps with its cold hands and cruelty or in our case, till the little kid cries. S shushes her baby while indicating with her fingers to lower the volume. We groan with mishap. She starts singing the same song I heard her sing the previous night. I dive into the nostalgia realm.
I remember the day my aunt shoved me on to the streets, walking on and on with a rage that filled my legs. I find myself in front of J’s home. We were tight as a rope back then, and maybe that’s why by wandering I placed myself there. I knock on their door. Their mom took me in with no hesitation. The cold night warmed when they gave me a blanket and food with no questions asked. I slept next to J where there was a spare bed from S moving out to her own room next door. I trap myself in the blanket praying for sleep to come and sweep me away from the day. With my struggles I hear a singing voice springing from S’s room. I reminisce the lyrics with a smile grooving on my face while she sings the same song to her baby now.
"Don't be tempted by the shiny apple
Don't you eat of a bitter fruit
…
'Cause all that you have is your soul"
An orange feeling warming my soul oozes me with peace I haven’t felt in so long.
We drive around the streets we hoped on. The streets we bled our childhood on. I look through the window to spot a white tent across a house that feels familiar.
‘Hey, isn’t that your aunts house?’
I stay in shock while silence stings my face.
‘Do you wanna check it out?’
‘I don’t know’
‘Let’s just pass by to check if anything is alright’
He drives to the house without waiting for my response. As we get close we notice people wearing black coming in and out. We slow down, and time freezes in a cube I am scared to open.
B’Fkr
The day ends on a purple note. The clouds run toward the night. J turns on the lights of the car. We scare the darkness away. We love definitions, we love our differences, banality horrifies us. In this room we call universe, meaning lose it sense during darkness or death.
We gallop through streets we used to live in. We seek with our eyes for similarities in our past that still exist. We mug in the thin air. We listen to music. We tune in Jhene Aiko. We melt in her voice. We sync lyrics we remember. We exist in the moment and no other matters. In the loop all we weep about is how to make this few minutes stretch to eternity, dance till our limbs fall, cry until our eyes bleed white. All this blue dream spill till reality slaps with its cold hands and cruelty or in our case, till the little kid cries. S shushes her baby while indicating with her fingers to lower the volume. We groan with mishap. She starts singing the same song I heard her sing the previous night. I dive into the nostalgia realm.
I remember the day my aunt shoved me on to the streets, walking on and on with a rage that filled my legs. I find myself in front of J’s home. We were tight as a rope back then, and maybe that’s why by wandering I placed myself there. I knock on their door. Their mom took me in with no hesitation. The cold night warmed when they gave me a blanket and food with no questions asked. I slept next to J where there was a spare bed from S moving out to her own room next door. I trap myself in the blanket praying for sleep to come and sweep me away from the day. With my struggles I hear a singing voice springing from S’s room. I reminisce the lyrics with a smile grooving on my face while she sings the same song to her baby now.
"Don't be tempted by the shiny apple
Don't you eat of a bitter fruit
…
'Cause all that you have is your soul"
An orange feeling warming my soul oozes me with peace I haven’t felt in so long.
We drive around the streets we hoped on. The streets we bled our childhood on. I look through the window to spot a white tent across a house that feels familiar.
‘Hey, isn’t that your aunts house?’
I stay in shock while silence stings my face.
‘Do you wanna check it out?’
‘I don’t know’
‘Let’s just pass by to check if anything is alright’
He drives to the house without waiting for my response. As we get close we notice people wearing black coming in and out. We slow down, and time freezes in a cube I am scared to open.
B’Fkr
ሉክዩስ
6 The day ends on a purple note. The clouds run toward the night. J turns on the lights of the car. We scare the darkness away. We love definitions, we love our differences, banality horrifies us. In this room we call universe, meaning lose it sense during…
Last part for this series, tonight.
❤1
7
I stand there, in a place I once called home. I shrug people’s ‘we’re sorry for your loss’ remarks. I lose myself in confusion. I look at the pictures gathered. I listen to the silence. Slow moments pacing themselves to become reality.
‘Is she dead?’ I want to ask. I feel unsure and oblivious. ‘Is she gone?’ I seek a response. ‘Where would she be?’ I knock my mind with questions that can’t be answered. In all this years there was a tiny maybe, a tiny hope I will still find her here. I tether through feelings that tangle, that to untie them would take years. I stand there in a place I called home with a whirl of uncertainties.
Someone touches my shoulder, with a wait to say ‘thank you’ for their condolences, I stop stroke.
‘Hey honey, am sorry-‘
I hug her. She was my nanny when I was a kid. She was the one person who stayed day and night after my mom passed, tolerating my sudden cries. She taught me to read books, to forget my grief in them. To unwrap reality and open in it an imaginary realm where anything is possible. I remember when it took days to get out of my room when she left because of her illness. I didn’t want to say goodbye because to say goodbye is to be left with doubt.
‘She was a good woman, a sturdy one, she had her tough years but she fought, she fought…’
She asks me of my whereabouts for the many years I haven’t been back. I tell her about how scary the past was. I tell her it wasn’t hatred but a strong fear. I tell her about the chairs I saw my mom sitting on even after she was dead. I tell her about yearn of being out of place, being a weight on someone. I tell her about the days my cries transcended my smiles. I tell her how I found solace in being far away, far away from my hurts as if distance can heal them.
‘Your aunt left you with a letter and some possessions, they are in the bedroom’
We walk in to the small bedroom. The attars soaked all in this tiny space. I fill with remembrance, reminded of her scarfs, where in every hug I whiff off the fragrance she wore. I get handed an envelope and a tape recording. In the envelope two papers attached throb together when I pull them out. The first page written on with big letters says,
‘
I search for a tape and try to insert the recording in. It begins with a guitar trickling. The lyrics slip in and the song starts to flood.
‘Oh my mama told me
Cause she say she learned the hard way
Say she want to spare the children
She say don't give or sell your soul away
'Cause all that you have is your soul Don't be tempted by the shiny apple
Don't you eat of a bitter fruit
Hunger only for a taste of justice Hunger only for a world of truth
Cause all that you have is your soul’*
…
*the song- Tracy Chapman, All that you have is your soul.
B’Fkr
I stand there, in a place I once called home. I shrug people’s ‘we’re sorry for your loss’ remarks. I lose myself in confusion. I look at the pictures gathered. I listen to the silence. Slow moments pacing themselves to become reality.
‘Is she dead?’ I want to ask. I feel unsure and oblivious. ‘Is she gone?’ I seek a response. ‘Where would she be?’ I knock my mind with questions that can’t be answered. In all this years there was a tiny maybe, a tiny hope I will still find her here. I tether through feelings that tangle, that to untie them would take years. I stand there in a place I called home with a whirl of uncertainties.
Someone touches my shoulder, with a wait to say ‘thank you’ for their condolences, I stop stroke.
‘Hey honey, am sorry-‘
I hug her. She was my nanny when I was a kid. She was the one person who stayed day and night after my mom passed, tolerating my sudden cries. She taught me to read books, to forget my grief in them. To unwrap reality and open in it an imaginary realm where anything is possible. I remember when it took days to get out of my room when she left because of her illness. I didn’t want to say goodbye because to say goodbye is to be left with doubt.
‘She was a good woman, a sturdy one, she had her tough years but she fought, she fought…’
She asks me of my whereabouts for the many years I haven’t been back. I tell her about how scary the past was. I tell her it wasn’t hatred but a strong fear. I tell her about the chairs I saw my mom sitting on even after she was dead. I tell her about yearn of being out of place, being a weight on someone. I tell her about the days my cries transcended my smiles. I tell her how I found solace in being far away, far away from my hurts as if distance can heal them.
‘Your aunt left you with a letter and some possessions, they are in the bedroom’
We walk in to the small bedroom. The attars soaked all in this tiny space. I fill with remembrance, reminded of her scarfs, where in every hug I whiff off the fragrance she wore. I get handed an envelope and a tape recording. In the envelope two papers attached throb together when I pull them out. The first page written on with big letters says,
‘
Your mom wanted me to give you this letter when you graduated, but you were not here. I am sorry. I truly am. The tape recording has a song on it your mother loved to sing for you. I was diagnosed with the same illness as your mother’s when we had our little feud. I was scared if I try to bring you back I would be a burden. It took all this years of fighting to sustain it but I am not feeling lively now. You know now the reasons why I was hard on you-…’I search for a tape and try to insert the recording in. It begins with a guitar trickling. The lyrics slip in and the song starts to flood.
‘Oh my mama told me
Cause she say she learned the hard way
Say she want to spare the children
She say don't give or sell your soul away
'Cause all that you have is your soul Don't be tempted by the shiny apple
Don't you eat of a bitter fruit
Hunger only for a taste of justice Hunger only for a world of truth
Cause all that you have is your soul’*
…
*the song- Tracy Chapman, All that you have is your soul.
B’Fkr
የ'እንሆ' ተረኮች
ወንበሮች በቀስታ ይሳባሉ- ሳህኖቹን ወደ መሃል ይገፏቸዋል:: ልጆቹ በ'እንታጠብ' ይነሳሉ:: ይሯሯጣሉ:: ቢቆጠሩ አንድ ... አምስት ይሆናሉ:: በጩሀት የተዋከበው ጠረፔዛ በፀጥታ ይዋጣል:: ባል እና ሚስት ይቀራሉ:: በክንድ ርቀት ውስጥ ዘላለም ይተኛል:: አይኖቻቸው በድንገትም አይተሳሰሩም:: በአቀርቅሮ ሚስት ሳህኗን ታነባለች:: መረቁ ከተወው ዳና ትንቢቷን ትፈልጋለች:: ባል እጁን በቀስታ ወደ ስልኩ ይሰዳል:: አንገቱን ይሰብራል:: ይሄ ዝምታ በምን እንደሚሰበር ያጤናሉ:: ቃላቶች ከአንጎሎቻቸው ምሽግ ይገባሉ:: በድንገት ልጆቹ ይመለሳሉ:: ያ ዘላለም የመሰለው ቅፅበትም ይረሳል::
ወንበሮች በቀስታ ይሳባሉ- ሳህኖቹን ወደ መሃል ይገፏቸዋል:: ልጆቹ በ'እንታጠብ' ይነሳሉ:: ይሯሯጣሉ:: ቢቆጠሩ አንድ ... አምስት ይሆናሉ:: በጩሀት የተዋከበው ጠረፔዛ በፀጥታ ይዋጣል:: ባል እና ሚስት ይቀራሉ:: በክንድ ርቀት ውስጥ ዘላለም ይተኛል:: አይኖቻቸው በድንገትም አይተሳሰሩም:: በአቀርቅሮ ሚስት ሳህኗን ታነባለች:: መረቁ ከተወው ዳና ትንቢቷን ትፈልጋለች:: ባል እጁን በቀስታ ወደ ስልኩ ይሰዳል:: አንገቱን ይሰብራል:: ይሄ ዝምታ በምን እንደሚሰበር ያጤናሉ:: ቃላቶች ከአንጎሎቻቸው ምሽግ ይገባሉ:: በድንገት ልጆቹ ይመለሳሉ:: ያ ዘላለም የመሰለው ቅፅበትም ይረሳል::
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