Her gait.

As if tired of carrying all that voluptuous beauty on herself..
She moves,
Slumberous …
.. with clumsy finesse ,
Her thigh long locks adorned with colourful beads moves in accordance with her every hip sway.
Her limbs carry her body like obedient lackeys…

….the rhythm of her strides, a nature choreographed gait.
As graceful as a well fed feline.

Poetry Monarch.

Chronicles Of A Petrol Attendant.

The Broody Hen (A Narrative )

Conversations With The Notepad.

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Fiction.

Picture : Courtesy Of Chesterfield Sofas.

Just yesterday a very great friend asked me a question and i quote : “If there were no destinations and you could travel forever, what form of traveling would you take and to where?”
I said First Class Armchair traveling through a creative soul’s rich imagination ,exploring and sightseeing places beyond touch ,fuelled by the inspiration fanned smoulders of passion,the love for written arts and of course; the silencing of the nagging voice of scepticism . What there a better way to travel or place to travel to ??

Than through the path made of threaded words and within the minds and bodies of fictional characters that can take you as deep as the past and as far as the future , or the vivid narration that can dangle you just above the presence,with buoyant prophecy ; as if you were a superior being with the power of foreknowledge only without the ability of altering fate (and yes, the thrilling pleasures of suspense to constantly incite and intensify the anticipation ).
But then comes the most loathed and quite inevitable part of Armchair traveling for every avid reader . The Destination. Those little words often written in bold italics : “THE END” as if to forcefully yank you off the cockpit of fantasy. You dread turning the last page and wish for a sequel, however satisfying the resolution or denouement might have been . More so because you know that reality is impatiently waiting for you to digest and sober up from the stupor of the utopia . Panting like a tortured bull ready to pounce ,swollen and inflated with even more tragedies because every book you read makes you conscious of at least one more human error . The legendary Mark Twain was spot on when he said : “Books are for people who want to be somewhere else” .
My greatest respect to the fictionate sculptors for creating a place of refuge and refill .

The Poetry Monarch

Chronicles Of A Petrol Attendant.

The Broody Hen (A Narrative )

Conversations With The Notepad

Mwandishi (Misconception Of Masculinity)

He is a libertine who lost his character in acts of a self proclaimed master of polygamy,
He changes maidens with assorted boxes of delicacy, blowing wealth intended to be a legacy,
While he whisper sweet nothings to his mistresses under these trees in the orchards in illegimate amatory, home is where he carries his physical brutality,
Haunted by the conscience of his infidelity,
….he rupture bones, puncture ribs,
Strangle his wife while his daughter watch to emphasise his supremacy
“I am the head of this house!!” he addresses aggressively,with the boot of his treachery he tramples her dignity.
Submissively,she bows before his misconception of masculinity
She hugs her daughter firmly and whispers
“Excuse his corroding humanity, love is strength and ability. A heart that forgives suffer the less misery.” her voice tremors with agony,
Mwandishi weeps for her Mother with sympathy,
Seven years after her birth, witnessing first the side of marriage that drips with cruelty,she made an internal promise to forever despise the knots of matrimony.

Broody Hen (A Narrative)

Mwandishi Trilogy.

© Copyrights reserved 2018

Ixube.

images_e001

Ngithe angibenze bubengamagama agqamile ubuhlalu balexube,lezi.. izinkomba zendoda egiqa amahlule.
Inhliziyo usuyenze yabayindawo yokubhukuza kwey’vemvane.
Uma ufunda lencwadi,zikhohlwe zonke izigameko zosuku,
…cabanga ubuhle bezinkayezi zobusuku.
Ungaphathi lutho ezandleni , uma uphimisa lagama izwa izwi lami ezindlebeni.
Akubekhona ukumomotheka ubusweni,
Hogela iphunga lalezimbali engizicoshe emadwaleni ngasemfuleni.
Ndlovukazi yasemathandweni
,cabanga nje kuyimina nawe ekamelweni,
Ngaphansi ezingubeni,sifumbetheni ezandleni, uncikise ikhanda lakho lapha kumina esifubeni ,sengilufakile ucingo eminweni.
Ngikuhlebela ;sihleka izinto ezingatheni nje emoyeni …umomotheke kufacake izihlathi..
Kuthule
Sibukane emehlweni,ingabe yimina ngedwa osemanzi emadolweni? uyawuzwa yini logesi ohamba kumina emzimbeni?

Azikulingene inkomo enginazo esibayeni.

Kodwa usuyozwa ngabakhongi ekuseni.


Yimina osemathandweni.
Owakusasa Umyeni.

Lovebite

love_bites_by_the_tireless

….bite at her neck and gain territory, melt the sleet on her cold heart in sparking chemistry… Make her inhibitions evaporate with heated intimacy ,weaken her knees and compel her instinctive guards to join your infantry…

Sink the tip of your fingers on her flesh delicately,nibble on her earlobes and whisper erotic absurdity…

Twerk her nipples ,till sensation ripples and trembles her entire physicality…

Quell her internal itching, make her squirm ,till she claw and evoke her Felinity,

Demarcate her neck with embroidery of hickies and seed her fertility with a love legacy.

Broody Hen.

A Narrative.

©copyright reserved -Afrika Zwelibanzi.