By: ©Dennis Bundi Kiambi.
“You know one day you’ll wake up sad,
Don’t tell me you can’t help it,
You’re old enough to know the score🎶.”⏰
I managed to catch my alarms’ last words as I stretched to switch it off.
Rubbing my crusty morning eyes a yawn crept out, almost satisfying.
I struggled up.
One look around, and I knew it!
Something was off with this particular morning, something was very wrong.
You see, when I woke up that morning in the freezing colds of the dawn, birds weren’t chirping as usual and no sun rays ran through my window. My dangling light bulb was shaking and a deafening silence hang all around. The blackness ran my blood cold.
In that moment of weakness, they all hit at once.
Hard as the push of death, and I remembered.
I remembered my hey day, my days of high spirits and Titanic dreams. When I had full control and a whole life ahead of me. My dignified days when I walked around shoulder high, when I lived princely and dined like a royal.
All famed, glorified and celebrated. I remembered how blind I was from looking too much and seeing too little.
I remembered them, all of them by my side, one by one; friend and foe, family and stranger, mentor and mentee, all canopied under the shadow of my vast sweeping prominence.
I remembered her and her imposing figures. I recalled my lurking thirst and want; I remembered reminding the world who ran it, with who.
I remembered when I held all the aces and kids were named after me.
I remembered my entries and exits, they were hard to forget.
I remembered and remembered more!…..
I remembered of my great fall, I recalled my trudge in the dark blind alley.
I remembered all their voices, the soft warning ones and the strong “keep going we ran this bitch”.
I remembered the big circle and how small it shrank.
I remembered the lights and music of a roaring disco night, a lap dance followed by another and another.
I remembered the bottles and how they bubbled with frothy water, and how I emptied one after the other.
I remembered the sprawl of the bottles and squabbles of my disciples, and how they straggled as I rose to speak. I remembered the girl’s screams.
I remembered them in my bed; slim, blonde, thick, brown, dark, white, bald, crazy, weirdo, teacher and the pyscho who almost killed me!
In this night my sleep was deathlike and waking up was a task! My elbows couldn’t hold me they let go. I fell back eyes on the ceiling.
I was looking forward to another bad day.
There was no point in crying, my throat couldn’t take it and my tears had long dried. I wiped my hands on my cracked face and puffy eyes. It was another sunrise, another reminder of the pale shadow of my former self.
© Dennis K Bundi