Scorned!

So Herodias nursed a grudge against John and wanted to kill him. But she was not able to, because Herod feared John and protected him, knowing him to be a righteous and holy man.

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The best that can be said about it is that it was not right. First of all, the manner of doing it; secondly, the reason why. I’ll tell you the reason why it should not have been done the way it was done. But, before that, let me tell you a story. Do not mind the frog in my throat. I tell you a tale of love. Love gone sour. Hate! This is not a story about infidelity you know, but just a bizzare truth of how far one will go for the one you loathe and despise. See, the exact date doesn’t matter, but this event took place anyway, on a January night after a day when the wind had blown without pause down the dusty noisy paths of Crossroads.

What shall I ask for?” Asked her daughter, dressed in her beautiful dancing costume, as she stood impatiently before her mother. Her mother paused a moment before answering. A thousand options came to mind. It wasn’t everyday that one had the chance to receive anything within

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MIN OMONDI

The best that can be said about it is that it was not right. First of all, the manner of doing it. Secondly, the reason why. I will tell you the reason why it should not have been done the way it was done. But, before that, let me tell you a story. Her story. Min Omondi’s story. Do not mind the frog in my throat. I tell you a tale of love,

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Dear Lord

Maybe
Deep in the dark of the night
And in every rooster’s crow
Dog’s bark and crane’s call
In every deep laughter
And overfed hunger
Sweat and toil
Struggles
Brilliant smiles and curious stares
Maybe
They have had tones of homes-
Dear Lord
And all they need this time
Maybe
Is one with no walls,
Roofs or doors
But rather a simple sign
Hanging from the branch of a tree reading:

Land rich and fertile, plant dreams here

Maybe.

© Kenyanito.

Faithful Gentleman

And I know her thirsty self will come back, and I will certainly carry her, a willing passenger on a night train trip to the sindom of pain and pleasure and leave her there panting and hungering for more, for a thousand sins with me and more. . .

You’ve been calling her consistently for the past one hour, and she has been avoiding your calls like plague for all that while. May I add that you’re annoying and irritating, for I have to start all over again.

“Wait, Joe, I think he knows…”

No, of course you don’t know anything. You’re just suspicious,a voice in you afraid to utter out your little insecurities; lest you lose her, or so you think. Poor you!

“Lola, relax, he has no idea, it’s just you and me right now; forget him!”

I smirk back, loving the sheepish nod she gives me back.
Two or three kisses later, you’re just but a frigment of her memory, the tiny bit I can’t totally wipe. I guess she does really care for you. I don’t give a hoot anyway.
She’s all high, slowly giving in to my demands as I take pleasure in teasing her, exploring without mercy her beautiful body, an art unique in it’s own way.
Being the persistent guy you are, you call again, and this time I curse under my breathe as she picks up the phone, fingers trembling.

“Hey babe…I’m sorry…I’m at Betty’s…no bae…it’s just some assignment am trying to complet…babe I didn’t hear it ring …”

Your instincts are super good, but you’re killing the vibe. Both you and I know there’s nothing so great, nothing so joyous, as those few seconds of expectation before entering into a woman’s unknown; yet you just spoilt the moment and am here wondering what for!
So I get back to exploring, and she desperately tries to maintain her normal voice, while gesturing at me to stop. I can’t. I won’t.
Suddenly she lets out a moan. Of course you heard it right before,

“…babe I have to leave Betty needs some help with her homework…”

But you trust her. She would never play you, you tell yourself. She hangs up on you,turns her wild on and her phone off. Lo! You know how lucky you are? You probably brag about it to your friends.

“C’mon let’s do this!”

She says as she plants another kiss that triggers the beast in me. My foul-stenched self presses on hard, taking and staining her innocence with my filth, never minding her little noises. Her pained face under the moonlight beams issuing from the window, or her moans of pain, as if she is really hurt, of pleasure, as if eating honey combs and sugarcanes, and the waves of her gentle motions, fused with the creaking of the bed all play a role in ensuring that the snake in paradise gets full with the blood-warmth expectation of a heavy spit. Like a wounded buffalo, I maul her- my prey, my sweat-her blood-our breaths cast in the air as we lead each other to a point of no return.

Not so soon, a joyous trembling courses through our bodies as she gives one last moan of joy and satisfaction. The snake inside gets delivarance from the pain of this knowing, this knowledge that the faithful gentleman you are knows nothing about our little mischief.

An hour later, she’s back at your place, smelling my cheap cologne, really tired and not in the mood.

And I know her thirsty self will come back, and I will certainly carry her, a willing passenger, on a night train trip to the sindom of pain and pleasure and leave her there panting and hungering for more, for a thousands sins with me and more.

I roll over with a smile. . .
The faithful gentleman you are doesn’t mind after all.

© Wendo Kenyanito.

Boy, bye!

 We all wade across life’s streams, not even sure of our return, but hoping to meet somewhere in life’s maze while searching. . .searching for an outlet. Time comes when we have to move on, sometimes not prepared to pack our own, but only abide by nature’s commands.

But why should I believe what you say this time, anyway?”

She had raised her voice a little, protesting against what she thought was an accusation in my voice earlier. I was taken aback, startled by the vehemence of her protest: who was I,

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What Does Happiness Feel Like?

The morning blush’d fiery red: Mary was found in Adulterous bed; earth groan’d beneath, and Heaven’s above trembled at discovery of love.

What does happiness feel like? She asks me. Like warmth,I say.
So you can’t be happy when you’re cold?
She looks confused.
Like simplicity, I explain.
Happiness isn’t ever hard? She asks.
It isn’t ever complex?
Like success, I try.
Like achievement.
Can’t you stay happy in the face of failure? She looks worried.
Like softness, I say.
Like gentleness.
Like a tornado bursting through you,like a volcano erupting.
Happiness,I say,feels like gladness to be alive.
It feels like blanket forts and daisies and sunshine and rainstorms and old books and hidden book stores.
But I’m struggling.

She opens her mouth.
But no,that’s not it,I say.

What does happiness feel like?
She asks,a slightly pathetic note in her question,something between despair and dumb incomprehension.
Like being loved,I tell her,
And she’s finally silent,
weary of all those memories whispering in her skull.
Like loving,I say, and being loved in return.

©Kenyanito.

Morning Mischief

Stubborn as she is beautiful, gets on my nerves, drives me nuts;
Hard to believe, am normally the stubborn one, just for fun though;
She lies next to me, all calm and innocent, I love how warm she is;
Then it hits me, I have to do this; I silently creep out of bed,
“What the…aaaargh! I’ll kill you!”
She’s startled, am running for my life;
The piece of thread is still in my hand, takes her just a second to figure out what was in her ear,
I laugh myself breathless;
Soon knocks me down, pillow to the head, “Ouch!”
Hope she buys that,
Sits on top of me, holds me down, kisses my forehead;
I turn her over, “You started this…,” she smiles, “I know, I like it…,” bites her lower lip, it’s on. . .
An hour, two, back where we started;
She lies next to me and I next to her, everything blurs away, all except our smiles: a glorious morning for a morning glory

©Kenyanito.