LOVE

THE BLOODY HAND

My creativity genes decided to go all poetic today. In that connection, I think I’d like to talk about something that has been off my radar for so long. Just the other day,I snapped in astonishment being like, “This thing still exists? Damn! How does it feel again? ”
It’s ‘something’ that has caused the nastiest, ugliest, stupidest ; of dramas ever seen. At the same time caused the biggest of dreams to come true. Ouw, sadly it also caused a number of deaths. Yes, I’m talking about love mjango.
Now I have your attention.
The good book says faith moves mountains. But love climbs them. I bet we are yet to see love make a mjango walk to space.
So in the world today, this is what love is.

Love drives mdadas to maternity. Some are left there and for the lucky ones, love drive them back.
Love is a master who enslaves both the rich and the poor, the strong and the weak, the learned and the unlearned. You heard that right. Even danda heads reckon what love is.
Love is a victim. Not sorry to say, sometimes used like a tissue, used like a wet wipe, used like a rag, used like an ear bud, like a toothbrush and even used like a tampon. All to ‘clean’ whatever mess anyone has.
Nowadays,  love is not blind, because she grew eyes  and now chooses to go with only those who have money.
Love is infectious. Airborne so to say. We can call that aspect ‘ebo-love’. You know, airborne? Ebola? Love… Ebolove is mostly out of peer pressure. A mdada sees her fellow slayer with a cute guy. Facebook, instagram hatuna amani ju yao. She then launches on a mission to grab one for herself too. Maybe two or even more. Si mnasemanga women multi task. Eeh… Wanaumez ain’t any better. He will go to the gym, only to appear at pool parties to show the number drawn below his chest. A few tatoos nazo ni lazima. Crowns it all with cash. (Sing ‘Make it rain’ again while reading that portion).
Love is a Ferrari or whatever the fastest car is today. Drives one crazy, but wait till you crush mjango.
Love works like a blue pill. Convinces you that you are safe to ‘kula happy’ mbaka umalizie wengine. It is not until you miss a dose that you will definitely sire problems and burdens. You become Baba shida na Mama Shida. Mr. & Mrs. Burdens. Br.& Sr. Shida Burdens.
To some, love is like a helium balloon. They will have it once, let it go willingly or unwillingly ; and it goes forever. The sky is the only place you can look for answers henceforth. By the way, sorry there is no map of the sky.
To others love is like a star. They only see it from a far. In other people’s galaxies.
Love is like a magician. Put your everything including your heart in it, they are all likely to disappear.
Love has its own charm. To others, its a protection and also casts spells. Kurogwa na mapenzi?
Love is a band aid. Kenyans call it ‘elastoplus’? Something. You know what band aids do. Used to cover wounds.
Similar to a fortress. Mjangos run to love for shelter kukiharibika.
Love is not like a bank. It offers no guarantee. Not all banks meet there guarantees though. I will not point fingers at this time.
Love is like Adam. Will shift the blame when confronted.
Love is alcohol. Have too much of it na tutakuita mlevi. Utatumia alcoblow kila siku kama mswaki.
Love has a favourite song. Sijui it goes something like ‘blah blah blah staki kusikia.’
Love is like a bed in a brothel. A useful tool for the game of lust. Sees the secret lives of people but keeps quiet about it.

Love knows the necessity of using protection, but is just too ignorant.
She ends up being a murderer. The best advice she can give is to abort.
Love is in love with beasts. See mjangos marrying their dogs and cats, horses and cows, chicken and monkeys.
Love is an entrepreneur. She is all about making money.
Love is neither agenda based nor gender based. (Crack the difference if you can).
Love always had a happy ending. Today the best she could do is a short ending.

And love, is no Mans land. Not me not you either.
Mjango, that is what love is today, at least in the world I know and the age that we are in. Mjangos talk of true love but do not know what she is all about. Don’t know how she looks like. Tall, short, brown, skinny, hairy, feeble, pretty, ugly, voluptuous, redhead, blonde… ? Maybe true love exists for those who still believe.
Im pretty sure, multitudes; count both the living and the dead, have once in a lifetime shaken the bloody hand of love.

You know even love as a word sounds so sweet and charming. One could picture it to be like a big chocolate bar that you would never get tired of eating. An ice cream that would never give you a cold, friendly to the diabetic too. Like an island with a motherly sun, cool breeze, hakuna matata, with every nature of leisure. That’s an island ten times better than Hawaii. (That’s according to my last visit there through a screen.)
My oh my. (Say that with Jeff koinange’s accent)  that’s how love used to be or say, was predestined to be. Never forced nor forged.
Love was properly timed. Mjangos knew that the wind of love would soon blow across them, definitely not empty handed. Thus carrying with it the one who would make you magnetized to the ground – frozen, have your hands behind thy head, with mouth agape, breathing irregularly or not even breathing at all, eyes welling and speech drowning in the stomach; at his/her sight.
That was then, when love was still blind. Talk of one man’s meat is another man’s poison.
Love had respect for what belonged to the other without dispute. Going by the saying first come first served.
Love was loyal. Never would you hear a little here a little there. Or hapa kule hapa kule one touch.
Love grew in stages like an insect. No rushing things.
As much as love was blind, she could see deeper into someone. External evidences were not determining factors for the breeding of love.
Love was visionary. Could see beyond the now.
Love used to be a good a parent. Father took care of the products of his loins. Mother never threw away a child.
Love was an endurer.
Mapenzi ilikuwa kikohozi. Kwa kweli haikuwahi fichika.
Basically, love was real. But look what man did to her. With all his greed and ruthlessness. She no longer has value. She no longer has dignity. She is no longer proud of even being called love. Ever since love began falling, failing, fading and hurting, she became a queen of vengeance. Blood for blood. Feel what i feel, see what i see. She became the Queen of the Mafia; the queen of the south. In the game of thrones, she no longer has competition. She is a black widow. The mother of vanity and vices.
That is how love acquired a bloody hand. Bloody because of the uncountable fatalities she has caused.
Let it narrow down to one thing. That love is true to those who are true. And love is bloody to those who are living a lie, all in the name of love.
Its an ambiguous piece. Inspired by someone i know of. Like many others who fall prey to the bloody hand of love, she changed and became hell knows what. Loved changed her.

 

1 comment

mimoh April 3, 2017 at 9:11 pm

mmmh…that’s very true

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