The Covid Diary: Samuel, 18 years old, Kenya

I miss the color of the sun,

spreading its bleached bottoms over the horizon

making the sunrise

The array of contrasting stars,

suspended into space

wandering like Cane

The bulging darkness of the clouds

and the non stop urination

while erect umbrellas roam the market square

like diseased dogs

I miss the greedy gnashing of car tires

protesting against the gravel

violent sirens like the prison gongs

announcing the presidential procession 

I miss the zebra crossing moment

holding the world at pause,

mocking the angry engines

posh cars giving me a standing ovation

while I cross on my toes.

I miss the aromas of the street

the spiced blend of dust and diesel fumes,

the waking noise and the silence,

of landing Boeings and Bombardiers

the choking hullabaloo of hawkers,

at the bus stop

I miss the inebriated orientals at Inema

singing in remix and dancing to boujee,

the sluggishly dressed lady puffing ganja,

singing along with her breasts whining to the beat of raggae

I miss ALU, its evenings

gambling with assignments

pleading with time

worked out brains, trafficked minds

jammed bottoms

trying to beat the deadlines

I miss the mobs at Open Space

the chatter of quarreling peer groups

the ravishing hugs and alluring pecks

the crushing and crashing

the scent of lovebirds cuddled in pretence

the legal porn in BujumburašŸ˜œ.Ā 

I miss I miss

Do you want to know more about my story?

Deel dit via: