Slice Of Heaven

How can I sleep, when my temples are pulsating to the tune of my heartbeat? How do I drift away when my unusually bulging tummy is threatening to explode, when its contents are at war with no real winner? At the same time adrenaline is flowing plenty and I feel like I could ride an elephant. How do I sit still with this surge of excitement flowing through my veins? How is that possible when I’ve been cooped up in a metallic box all day, literally crossing the country since morning? How do I tune out the thoughts running through my mind when I’ve seen so much today?

My mind. My beautiful narcissistic mind. How do we rest when we’re this overwhelmed? How do we balance out the anxiety with the raging excitement? Any ideas? Me neither. Perhaps we should consult dear old heart. He’s good with this kind of thing.

The poor sappy thing says he’s clueless too. He’s in a predicament of his own, unable to slumber because he’s yearning. Longing for her, he says. But who is she? Is it the one with the aesthetic scar? Definitely not. We couldn’t stand her body odour. Perhaps it’s the petite. It could be her. She makes us feel nice, in more ways than one. But wait, there’s no posterity there so it can’t be her. This is a different craving, a longing for permanence. It is a desire for the whole damn cow, not just the milk. No wonder the ticker has been beating so fast.

Ironically, the night is as bliss as it gets. It’s been raining so there’s that refreshing breeze and smell of soil in the air. There are a few stars in the sky creating such a dreamy contrast. Everything is calm, not completely, but with a few welcome disruptions, distinct groans from a lion calling out to its mate. What a majestic sound! This is in perfect symphony with the sound of swaying leaves and rattling leaves. An exotic bird chirps, another responds. An owl makes its presence known too. There’s another lion calling out from a different position. I can discern their shapes in the dark. At least someone is getting lucky tonight. I could shine a flashlight and see the king of the jungle in all his majesty but I choose not to. I can’t interrupt a dance of simba love. I am not that guy.

The low humming of the mini fridge reminds me civilization is never too far off. It sounds cautious, afraid to intrude on this paradise. It prompts me to look around. I see nothing but profound luxury. I see a perfect blend of vintage and contemporary. I see on the coat rack my suit, neatly pressed and calling out for me. That gorgeous grey suit. I have an intimate relationship with my suits. If I was a fictional character of Caucasian descent I would be Barney Stinson, for more than one reason. I say suits in the plural like I have a special room in my house filled with suits of different colours and fabrics while in real sense I only have two. That’s beyond impressive for a yet-to-be-employed university graduate.

Photographic evidence that I look awesome in a suit.

I love suits. I’m intoxicated by how they make me feel. I don’t look too bad in one either. I’m an old soul. Last month I visited a 100-year-old house with the original furnishings kept pristine. I felt more at home there than I do in my fairly modern home. Even now, in this paraíso, I’m listening to Frank Sinatra, Louis Armstrong and Nina Simone. The music is playing from my phone. Classical jazz is perfect for a night like this. If only I owned a gramophone and was playing it from an old vinyl record. I feel bad that I can’t write this on a type-writer. I will soon acquire these items. Only two other things are missing from this picture; one is a liquid typically found in bottles and sometimes in boxes. The other has a pulse and wears heels & lace.

I am not an unreasonable discontented person. I appreciate what is, and what is right before me. I see myself in there, fitting in very well and feeling home. I see myself how they must see me, how I wish to be. So I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with what is possibly the crispest air I’ve had the honour of breathing. I take it all in; the sounds, the tranquility and slight buzz from Kenya’s finest brewer and whisper a silent prayer. I give thanks for the now and petition for the future.

43 thoughts on “Slice Of Heaven

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  1. Hmmm… I could say that this is the best piece I’ve read today but I’m afraid the day is really young. It’s comforting though to learn that you are unemployed also… 😢😂 To the better times ahead 🍻. Bottles and heels 😄

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I don’t know what to say but maybe I can describe my reaction to this. I have read this in a matatu and i am smiling. My eyes are watering and I don’t think it’s my allergy acting up again. It’s just the way this piece has been written. Something inside of me has related to it hence the reaction that wasn’t pre-meditated. Old soul…I second you on that one. You are🍻

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Okay Biko 🙌🙌

    Am just going to cp the lines that made me feel this piece because I can’t really describe them as good as you did

    “The poor sappy thing says he’s clueless too. He’s in a predicament of his own, unable to slumber because he’s yearning. Longing for her, he says. But who is she? Is it the one with the aesthetic scar? Definitely not. We couldn’t stand her body odour. Perhaps it’s the petite. It could be her. She makes us feel nice, in more ways than one. But wait, there’s no posterity there so it can’t be her. ”

    “It’s been raining so there’s that refreshing breeze and smell of soil in the air. There are a few stars in the sky creating such a dreamy contrast.”

    “If I was a fictional character of Caucasian descent I would be Barney Stinson, for more than one reason. “(of course, this one is my favourite)

    Only two other things are missing from this picture; one is a liquid typically found in bottles and sometimes in boxes. The other has a pulse and wears heels & lace.

    And this

    Liked by 2 people

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