He says, She says

Posted: June 14, 2015 in Uncategorized

The world’s a cruel place—it’s axiomatic. You don’t have to read the paper or watch the news to know it. All you have to do is take a minute and listen. Listen carefully and you can hear them–the silent screams of women and children muffled by the constant din of rush-hour traffic; the empty wails of orphans that reverberate as monotonous undertones through the amplified rhythm of the loud techno-music. And yet THEY continue to dance. They dance away into oblivion, blinding themselves with cigarette smoke and dulling their senses with the hard liquor and hypnotic narcotics. They drown the dance floor with bloody sweat, twisting their bodies in a spasmodic fandango while chained and weighed down by the shadow of the pit “It’s the dance of life, babe.” That’s what SHE said when I asked. Little do they know that they’re dancing to a threnody on their own shallow graves, with death as their DJ.

The world turns a notch and you dare watch the news. Beheadings, wars, terrorism and pestilence are all squeezed in between ads of new gadgets and beauty soaps. It’s a honkytonk of fools where the most ruthless and the sexiest nudist are celebrated and worshipped. I asked her about honour, love and virtue but SHE only stared and wept. “It’s the last days, dearest,” is all SHE could manage to say.

SHE is a prostitute who works the night. SHE lives in a trailer and shops downtown. SHE’s been with more men and they always leave her with a blackeye which she covers up behind that makeup. Yet every Sunday she sits in the front row and gets ruptured in spirit. She’s in the choir and her sweet voice rises above all as she sings “Silent Night” every Christmas morning while holding a white flickering candle. I can see her life flickering also within that flame—just another sweet cherub, ravaged by this world’s injustices. I asked the priest about her life because I couldn’t grasp it. “HE deals in mysterious ways and HIS ways are unknown to us,” is all he said.

He says, she says—we live in the world of what THEY say. Nobody cares to listen to what I say and so I write letters to the gods every night; letters from down here in the drains where nobody cares a bit and no benevolence is found. I’m just young and trying to figure it out. Do YOU feel the same? What do YOU have to say?

© David Phiri

  1. popsy says:

    im just young and trying to figure ot out… 🙂
    such a lovely piece


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