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Posted by on in Poetry
It is a rainy evening in Nairobi,Long lines at the bus stop,Muddy, exhausted and hurrying feet,She is almost there. Feet in sodden socks and sharp toed boots,Are rushing to a rendezvous,Looking for an umbrella with a company logo on it,He crosses the puddled road. Lips parted in hallo say, “At Last”,A welcome embrace lingers much too long,While muddy exhausted feet seek out,Sodden socks in sharp toed boots. The hours in traffic are more than long,In the limited space of the noisy bus,The heat from the engine is eclipsed,By feet in sodden socks placed perilously close to muddy and exhausted feet. In the warmth of a cramped flat in Eastlands,A door is hastily locked,While crowds below try to clean off their feet,Sodden socks are trapped between muddy exhausted feet. As the Nairobi rain clears in the night sky,Sodden and muddy clothes are thrown in the basket,A storm the likes of which Nairobi...
©Amare Poeta 2013
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Posted by on in Short Stories
If anyone had told me that I would one day be seated across a table from James Bond at a fancy restaurant with three full pages of the menu dedicated to French and South African wines, I would have scoffed at them and walked off. Yet he had called me out of the blue to propose a business venture. My real estate holdings needed a pick-me-up after six dry months in a black hole of obscurity and the usual weekend company, Lisa, had run off with another group of friends for a weekend getaway I wasn’t feeling up to. Saying his name without leaving behind a trail of curiosity about my manner has always been a challenge. I had a flared red hot crush on him exactly eight years ago, but there had never been a chance at anything more than the usual strained platonic relationship. I was seeing someone at...
©S.Ogugu 2014
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Posted by on in Short Stories
I’m seated on my couch pretending to watch the current episode of Scandal. My cellphone is on the floor. It’s ringing. I don’t know why it won’t stop ringing. I can’t tell who would be calling me at this hour or why they have been trying to reach me for the past hour. The clock says it’s half past midnight. The carpet spread from one end of the living room to the next makes the house warm; and a little dusty when the sun’s heat loosens the dust from the unpaved path outside the gate. It also helps with the unwanted phone calls because having my cellphone ring on the floor reduces the startling vibrations and constant buzzing.   The bottle of Le Filou is half empty. It’s funny how I downed it after staring at many such bottles in the refrigerator and reaching for the broccoli or tomatoes instead. It’s...
©S.Ogugu 2014
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Posted by on in Poetry
We rushed,Our worlds about to crush,Now there is just a hush.   Script n Ryhmeby Shedyk....
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Tagged in: life love
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