The last time I saw Maimun words poured out of me like water squeezed from a sponge. She covered my mouth with hers as if to swallow a terrible curse that would come back to afflict us. “Forget us, forget me,” she said. Upon us was the moment of partying— my heart cracked. “I will come for you, my moon,” I said. “I will get you away from your Imam father Even Allah.” “Goodbye, my love I cannot help you with my love. Forget, my love I love you more than life itself.” She shimmered away— And I was alone.
She is afraid of love that requires making when she is licked and wet Locks click and the door to her womanhood closes. The pain is a sword, tears asunder the pleasure She cries her heart and soul and her brain shuts To beg God for forgiveness— she strayed when she met me her beautiful devil. She vows never ever to sin again until the next time she longs for it.
In a world where patriarchate is heritage nothing has been left to chance about the male dominance – man is the head, and woman the neck. Nevertheless, the recent attacks on men from a particular place in Kenya (classified stuff) by their women have raised alarm on the God-given place of man. There seems to be a silent revolution that would end the age-old reign of man. Women are infiltrating, conquering and dominating where man has boasted the sole leadership and command since time immemorial, and are doing better. Why this sudden upheaval? The woman is empowered to the hilt, and the male species is losing it. Gone are the days when alcohol-acquired-machismo was revered by the ladies and thence the sisters (who’ve been in distress for eons) have taken the reins – from bedroom to work place. ...
When I first met him, he was a wanderer, gypsy his eyes thirsty and his body fire— When I first saw her, she was a wonder, water to put out fire. The fountain between my legs dripped, gushy from the same spot of a leaking roof. Photo by John Rocha from Pexels.com Fire burnt from the pit of my stomach, hot coals and I knew I had a home. You will never wander anymore, Gypsy, I told him. Between her legs, she was patchouli: earthy and musky smell, sweet yet smoky, a balance of sweetness and romance— and for the rest of the night, I tasted her tanginess. Keep it that way, I told him and put out t...