The cigar man's fate

-
The man and his cigar.


I was wondering why he smoked his future away by a thankless smoke of cigar. He didn't want to make use of the grace of humanity because he was fed up of being human.
I graced him with my presence, only to find him cuddling his doll : a pillow of his tears.

There he lied next to it, too trembling to look into my eyes, sobbing enough to soak his bed wet and his death was closer than he wished.
I reached my hand to him, who after refusing, posed eyes of horror that begged for another cigar.

A man, broken and overburdened with void of not possessing the essence of life.
Hence, a cigar had become the face of his heart beat, unknowingly of the unholy end of his tale.

With an attitude of panic, l humbly knelt before him, kindly requested his permission to rescue him out of his pit, even though I didn't know how to rescue him.
His bleeding soul fenced me against him, he clung his fingers against the bed sheet and spitted a leave me alone saliva on my nose.

All he wanted was a cigar and l couldn't give him one, it was his only hope of survival, yet it was a hell of deceit.
I ran to the kitchen in a blink of an eye, filled a crystal clear glass with fresh tap water, returned to give the cigar man, but little did I know, it was all too late.

My hand shivered, my eyes bled, my face drowned in my own sweat - the cigar man had gone with the wind. There on the bed sheet, a flood of blood lied and the cigar man was nowhere to be seen.

Where did he go? He was here l'm sure. Not even his thick weeping blood could answer me.

I sobbed my heart off and my soul was arrested in the land of lamentation.

By Blessing Mhlanga.

17/04/2019


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A mafia tells his tales

-
Image
A mafia tells his tales I’m unknown in the universe of the blues. I hustle with my claws and toil with my feet. I have married a new sun, the desert is my ex and weeping is the grave - I am the Mafia of this game, the game of striving to be the best striker on the field of life. Don’t remind me of the gone tales, I have buried them and I press toward the unknown hidden in the elegant paradise - a world of my own smile. I live not to impress but to express my inner gold which was once sold by the enemy. The kisses of my wisdom reflect the pieces of piles and tiles of my make-up, I have managed to separate the under from the asunder - this is my bible of livelihood . I have conquered the plagues  of lazy plugs, who loved to pray that I become a prey but their gales have become my girls for my fortune sales. I own many suites but not suitable enough to suit every occasion; my calling is sizzling and it won’t stop dazzling. My part is to dress the start, make sure I do
Read more

Mugabe writes his obituary

-
Image
How Robert Mugabe wants to be remembered I was a liberator. Maybe a tyrant too. By Blessing Mhlanga.      10 -09 - 2019. Well, where should I start? If in the beginning God created heaven and earth, then in the beginning is where I’ll start. In the beginning I, Robert Mugabe became pregnant of a vision: to liberate my fellow black Zimbabweans from the perpetual catastrophes of slavery, inequality, poverty, racial segregation and the heavy heap of unjust leadership in the hands of Ian Smith and company. It is for this vision that I created countless movements and campaigns against the atrocious regime that had enslaved my people during the 1960s and 70s. It is for this vision that I endured a decade of imprisonment for trying to overthrow this vicious government. Maybe, it is for this vision that I stayed in power for almost four decades. For clarity purposes, I didn’t hate white people but I only despised their use of power against my people, through
Read more

Opinion piece: Ancestral worship is a fallacy

-
Image
Ancestral Worship is a shameful fallacy By Blessing Mhlanga We cannot speak to the dead and there’s no such thing as the living-dead. Rituals involving animal slaughter, sprinkling of blood, drinking of concoction, talking to a dead person on their grave and consulting a sangoma for intervention is a spiritual deception that has enslaved the african people. For me personally, I am extremely ashamed and disgusted by my fellow black people who believe that a dead person has an influence on their failures or prosperity in their lives. Some cultures even believe that the dead are a mediator between God and the living; it’s a shame because they have forgotten that God is the creator of all men and he doesn’t need a human being whom he created to be a mediator to those who are living. According to Truth Magazine article, ‘if you displease the ancestors, it may be that they will kill someone else.’ This doesn’t make sense, why would my ancestors, who were somehow
Read more