Dedicated to Dee... your always there for me thank you.
Heart
of an ant
After he had read the story to her and they had prayed as they
always do, he was tucking her into bed and then kissed her forehead and they smile
at each other (she giggles) and for a moment they speak with no words (their
secret love language between a father and his daughter) until she asked him to
his surprise, “If you could stand before God Da and ask for any heart in the world,
what kind of heart you have (broken English) ask for?”
“Umm?” (The silence of being taken by surprise by the unexpected
question as children love to do to us as adults). He smiled silently and as he
contemplated the relatively right answer, the silence dragged on and on until
finally he replied, “The heart of an ant”.
As children do with the greatest simplicity and honesty she
quickly questioned back, “Are you sure?” He nodded confidently rubbing her
belly making her giggle again. “Yes muffin” she mull’s it over and over again her facial expression telling the
story of a short mental journey, and then she
asked him again, “Not an eagle or a bear, a dragon, maybe a lion, maybe a
phoenix or ... or a Titan?”, (You could tell from the outside looking in how
close their relationship was, he obviously read to her often and from a wide
variety of books well above her ages understanding, I suspect he could see her
potential and like any good parent he wanted her to do better than himself, the
search for knowledge would set the foundation and solidification of their bond.)
He looked at her as he reflected on his own childhood, his own past struggles
and victories and saw himself in her in the form of this curiosity she posed
(possessed?) for life, knowledge which they intrinsically
shared, he also saw in that moment all the things that he hoped for her and all
that he hoped he could protect her from and knew well he would not be able to
protect her from, because the “school master life” whom had already schooled
him early that sometimes “such is life”, one’s path is ones path and at the end
of the day you have to walk it out. That nebulous place where character is
tested, individuality is developed and the part of us which we call our soul is
asked hard questions and forced to answer through life and decisions. Reluctantly he smiled looking at the ground
raising his eye’s to meet her eyes as curious as they were and said, “No” “Why?”she
said “Umm why not (jokingly but in a gentle but more
serious tone he continued), because ... although the ant seems insignificant in
many a number
of ways and it is seemingly small in stature, it is not! The heart of ant makes
it go to places where lions and eagles would be afraid to go, and where others are
incapable of thinking of setting foot out of fear, its size is its strength and it knows who it is and its design, its size allows it to see things as no one else can at the greatest level
of simplicity, at ground zero, hence getting the grand scheme of most things
and using this knowledge to its advantage, as the world would say the ant will
walk where angels fear to tread, the ants boldly set their feet, small feet,
big heart (pulling her toes as they laugh), to get what they needs to feed
their dreams and to gain food for the colony which is his/her family, and hence
the heart of ant must be a dream chaser and I myself am/was a dreamer and I am still
on a hunt... still (laughing) but for now I have found you and I am so blessed, I am on
rest from dream chasing and just eating up the moments with you until I am stuffed, I will chase dreams again but for
now I need to digest the moments … for now (they laugh he picks her up out of
bed and he sits her in his lap as if having an epiphany debated by two
scholars), and so I can relate to the ants heart. The heart of ant in my
opinion has to know God, because to know god is to know no fear even when scary
things are present, this heart knows how to serve others without query or spite.
It knows and does not question its purpose it lives it every day, the question
is how many people know their purpose? not too many sweetness, easily distracted,
compromising to be “normal” they sell themselves short in order to fit in, time
will tell you when you are old enough what your purpose is, if you take the time
to listen the spirit he will tell you how to achieve that purpose. The sad
truth is often people do know their purpose it’s always going to be hidden
inside you, but few take the time to look and even less have the courage to
fulfil it, because dreams cost something that money can’t buy, like courage to
mention one. And all dreams no matter how simple or small they are come with
some form of pain which people avoid not knowing the reward is greater than a
little pain. (Kissing her forehead) This heart of
an ant is unselfish and knows how to work in a community for the welfare of
all, this heart can walk with others without conflict envy or malice and
understands compromise, like the Yin and the Yan the heart knows when and how
to use force and when to yield in the endeavour to find this allusive thing in
life we call balance, especially when the troubles of the world shake our
physical spiritual and mental cages. The pressure is on us... what we call game
time the part of us which is character is tested as life does to all of us at
one point or another, I hope you have a lot more time to learn more about life
before you have to face that side of being alive, before it tests you (rubbing
her head playfully subconsciously looking at what the future may or may not hold
with all the craziness in the world, every man always wants to protect his
daughter and teach his well enough so he (they?) can protect himself (themselves?). This ant
heart knows how to walk alone as long as it has to, simply because in this life
time you just have to walk whether people are there or not sometimes, tomorrow
isn’t promised so you have to keep moving today... Feet swollen everything
inside you saying stop, tears in your eyes the question “why god?” on cracked
lips... Still walking... still. Sometimes
it (life) doesn’t give you a choice and it’s here you come face to face with
your true heart, and you see the heart you have in a mirror of self-reflection.
Ants as small as they are can lift up to 6 times their weight... I would really
like to see a bear do that (lol)? and when they, the ants that is, sink their teeth into
something with the intention of moving it they don’t compromise and more
important they are not afraid to accept help as the pride of a man’s heart does,
past hurts and insecurity often do this to people’s hearts... the heart of ant
is hard working and never lazy, grind or die? And they live... This makes me
assume this ant heart is aware of time and endeavours not to waste it... Time
is the ants’ currency (Thinking to himself almost a second epiphany umm… yes)
bears and lions might stand on ants but rarely do they kill them or crush em (snatching
a fist in the air animatedly then
opening his hand as if letting go of sand) but never the less the bite of lions
and bears do not affect ants, sloppy but ineffective, but the small bite of ant
disturbs the lion and the bear greatly and causes them to stop and jump around (making clown like gestures raising his
knee up and down for her and they laugh,)
the bite is small but focused in very sensitive places ... but the thing I like
most of all about the heart of ant is
that it would sacrifice it’s self wholly, without a question and hesitation for
its Queen and sovereign, you are my
Queen young lady (kissing his finger and putting it to her forehead there secret
gesture of affection)... umm ( thinking one last time conclusively) “My queen
the heart of an ant...” (He puts her back in bed and bows). She smiled at him
with a look of true understanding, his daughter is hugged and she knows she is
loved “now sleep”, he said and “good night”, he again bowed and left the room
smiling gently as he turned the light off. He walks slowly to their room and
stands by the door for a moment looking at his wife with a gentle smile, just
watching her as the soft of the moon light
danced on her skin and thought to
himself “my queens” as he laughed “this
heart of an ant” .
From the book LETTER TO MY UNBORN...Tapfuma Gerald Munengami dedicated
to those who chase dreams and to my unborn in the hope that we meet soon someday...
The
Scarecrow and the Rose
They
say the Scarecrow theory is beyond intellect and can only be understood by the
soul of a man, often heartfelt in the real world but unseen as it was written
in the dream world where all things are possible, difficult to deal with in one
blow as many run away from it through escapism and excuses to avoid long
suffering, it is a painful cage like passiveness derived from a misguided perception
of love, not the whole thing just fractured pieces of it ,love that is, left to human interpretation it’s just enough to drive you crazy
masked in half-truths, love in pieces, euphoria and man takes what he wants and
leaves the rest… I guess it is like a
drug of choice, addictive and destructive at the same time when incomplete and
no matter how much it hurts you want more, then you have to deal with the cage
like passiveness which is like withdrawal because true love complete always
wants to be free, it has to express itself however it wants, the war is waged
internally because man wants to control and cage things that are meant to be
free, unfortunately over the eons he has forgotten what a force love is, it’s
alive and it wants free, he… man that is fights foolishly because he won a
battle but he destined to lose a war. Even in his ranks rebellions started… If
I recall correctly and you would take this walk with me for a second …Once upon a time
there”...
... there was a Scarecrow that lived in a
field and he was hopelessly in love with the Rose that grew across in the next
field for as long as he could remember, and so in the name of love as so many of
us do, he silently season after season stood there and watched the Rose in
adoration, in silence, in wanting, in drunk love (laughing), but also in pain and
in awe of her, in a very confused blend of hope pain and desire he marinated,
she seemed always to be a fingertip away, the hope and the hopelessness, the
same distance a fingertip close. Unquenched, the hopelessness was a flame fuelled
by time his constant reminder of distance, time and distance being the fire
fuelling the dehydration of his soul, wondering where the water was and if
there would be any relief any rain besides his own tears? As close to hell as
one can get without death and just as close to heaven without salvation umm? Profound,
I am not sure which one, but it was one of them, nothing could be worse than
the smell of food when your starving?
Silently during spring with the
greatest anticipation in his heart he would watch her blossom slowly from the
bud to the petal, he admired the process before him it was like watching Mr God
paint, noticing the design of each of her petals perfect in his eye even the
slanted ones “the perfect flaws”, she was his study he just wanted to know her
especially the things hidden from the naked eye, to him she was not just a
thing of beauty she embodied beauty as a whole, everything about her in essence
it flowed like the creativity of each instrument in a band playing in unison in
this symphony-thing we call life, all of her different elements becoming one
and then you had music and dance which created moments for the listener ,him, and she did all this by just being herself... his
head swayed to the rhythm of life nice and easy smiling and nodding talking to Mr
God about how he always managed to get the architecture of her curves just
right...“Always just right you dids it, yet again you dids it, Mr God ... Yet again always” he nodded his head to
the sky with a smile and a sense of pride as if he had something to do with the
process, his anticipation, the secret involvement beckoning to her beauty to
come out. Observing the nature of her stem its gentle texture to his imagined touch
as he reaches for the air in front of him, he crosses over to dream world for
just a second in time. The same stem was firm as her character which he was yet
to meet but sure of because of her inner light that said “I am the essence of
Rose,I am well loved by a Scarecrow.” Watching her, the bud at blossom the life
craving to burst out the beauty yet to be seen, seen or unseen it existed
regardless and with a smile... at times,
shy but always with a smile he admired her. Throughout summer in his mind he would
walk over to her but stay silent and provide a shade for her when the sun rays
were too harsh a times turning away from her when he felt to overwhelmed to be that
close to her, just slightly and only for the slightest moment trying not to be
overwhelmed by what he felt for her and his/this inability to move toward her
was frost like, realties cold touch bring him back from the dream world almost
taunting him. The ache… he longed to be with her,the soul cringes slightly to
witness his pain, not knowing it was his choice always.? Fear does this to people the non-interpreted
side of love we hate because it leaves us vulnerable so we avoid it, the excuses
of a developing love scared to be complete because it doesn’t actually know
what complete looks like nor what it feels like (ha-ha), young hearts they beat
with the same rhythm yet they have not yet learnt how to beat as one?
What he would not give to tell her
all the things he wanted to tell her, his lips desired to and his mind thought
up all day and night things maybe she needed to hear to make her smile more... things that would make her soul float to where
he was above the clouds and then they could dance even though he didn’t but it
sounded good ... things to spark her hearts imagination and make her mind a
fool as was loves nature? But alas in his head and I guess in this world, he
was just a Scarecrow she was a Rose, one of life’s painful and cruel tricks
kindred souls born so far apart in more than one way. A times in his heart he
would muster a great courage, the kind of courage that would defy the laws of
nature but only in his head for now as a man think so shall he be, and pray to
this Mr God person for the will and the capability to walk across to her one
day, if only to protect her from the summers rays as he had envisioned, to walk
over to this citizen of heaven that she was to him in his heart, to stand by
her side maybe and smell her more closely, he already knew her scent thanks to
Mr Wind and she smelt amazing, maybe even touch her as long as he didn’t bruise
her ,looking at his hands the twigs his rough nature,to stand solid for her
when the winds playful nature stirred a bit too much so that she would not be
pushed around by nature, as well as in the Autumn when her leaves and petals
would fall to the ground and she would be once gain exposed much like his heart
was, to show her his smile and let it be known to her that he would be a cover for
her a safe place, a diary for her secrets, a
soldier for her wars, a scarecrow for the field of her dreams to grow safe in,
what would he give to explain to her how he felt with his boy like sheepish
smile (laughing) again the love energy drives his heart and he sets foot in the
dream world again, the power of hope.
He speaks “There
is always life where there is hope even when things seem to be falling apart, I
think at least? But I do know this, I will be here if you need me... Just let
me know I ain’t goings nowhere?” into the wind he whispers please take my
message carry it to her he imagines. As life does to us all when we face our
Autumn, her petals come off and she was once again exposed naked to world
before the winter season of life... naked to the eye... to the soul... (His eyes close in respect at the vision of
her naked but his arms stayed raised to protect her
.a gesture of honour something that has being lost in this time and age, to be
her warmth for her winter when the world gets too
cold as it does when we face the seasons of life called change, he stands on
the border of both worlds, reality and the dream, then for a moment he steps
back into the dream world and crouch’s over her to keep her warm...
“I am here...
and I am not going anywhere I will be your light I will be your sun ...ha-ha at
least my smile will be ... I aints going nowhere”
If only she could hear me he thinks scratching
his head... Like the steps of paraplegic, in their own mind this brings a great
hope to the souls, a memory that shouldn’t exist, one foot and then the other,
the feeling of sand in between toes and grass under the feet, the divine part
of us which craves life and knows the limits of the sky are a stepping stone
for the god within us which walks with Mr God... and with this knowledge the
opposite effect of his newly found confidence (he opens his eye to face
reality) immediately confronted with feelings of indecision the sharpest part
of the blade we call faith ummm ... Does this faith cut us deep or does it
protect us by cutting off the dead things we hold onto so that the new things
can grow and this love thing would be complete, you see sometimes you have to
let go of something to make room for something else new to replace it right? As
he looked at the breach between them... The universe between them and where
were the stars and the moon to light, to guide them on the path and show them
the way to each other... the dream world and reality created a vortex of soul in
the poor Scarecrow of heart shattering pain and you could feel in the essence
of that space angel’s wings colliding with demons in a battle for his sanity
against doubt. (If you could understand if you have ever being there if you
have ever loved and being incapable of touching). A place when we are... You
are... incapable of walking/moving/changing (A tear leaves his eye ashamed that
he felt self-pity). When the paraplegic looks at his feet still as they are,
the feeling of sand in between his toes an illusion, despite
all his might, still...and one is still in the same place unmoved, the same wheel
chair for the paraplegic... his eyes (the
scarecrow that is) try look inside for reasoning, but it seemed as if reason
has forsaken him for some reason his mind went to a place called Gethsemane he
seemed to be spending much time there, he looks down to the ground to see the
pattern of blood in the form of his own tears. On the same cross burning inside
a desire, the same strange fruit of possibility, Strange fruit indeed a truly
bitter taste it was hope doing the lynching here, “were we not just friends a minute
ago hope?” in the Scarecrows case looking across the same way, the same
distance? At times a new beauty off the same
face. But a different pain, all the time a different one, sometimes less
sometimes more. Yes, no, I don’t know, I don’t know anymore? At that moment the
pain is only made less by the touch of her fragrance, the wind happened to walk
by and felt the pain of the Scarecrow because of its intensity like the weight
of a water fall trying to get inside a cove and said to himself
“This
is not right it’s not at all …umm actually its very wrong (rubbing his chin the
wind that is) I must do something at least for the moment? He is better, young
love, so intense yet so unbalanced, I must go and see my old friend Mr Fate he
will know what to do?”
And so the wind was kind enough to
carry to Scarecrow her sweet fragrance yet again to sooth his pain and a petal
to land in his palm a sign of promised things to come, unwittingly increasing
his addiction to her the closest thing to her touch he could ever fathom as it
landed in his palm, he the Scarecrow breathed in deep and felt his soul sink
like a child falling through clouds in a dream, the kind of hit that doesn’t
hurt his tears, the rain for other people’s sorrow, for they carried hope and
love even thou they killed him, where ever they fell they inspired hope where
ever the tears, rain fell there would be growth and the idea of
something beautiful growing from his pain made him smile again that was his
nature that who he was. He the Scarecrow
looks away,the duo that lived within him try to rip him in two, loving her...
and not being with her, for the slightest moment he looks away to get away and
yet thou the moment is slight, despite his own feelings of wanting her, and
wanting to escape wanting her, But as soon as he looks away (Ay yeah), as not
to miss a thing not a moment not a
breath, no matter what the people said, what this hurt did ,what the birds
and the bees gossiped about ... the wind... time..... Himself times said in
moments of despair, this deep feeling this love thing would not be quiet... It
would not leave him alone and to be honest he didn’t want it to go… No one had the
right to tear (not rip - tear) his love down.
So he looks back at her pondering how
this duo existed inside of him knowing one of them (hope or hopelessness) had to die soon, for it
was essential for his souls survival looking at the calluses of his soul in the
dream world, was it a hard life lived or life lived hard fervently with tenacity?
And true to his word and his heart he
stood solid like a child innocent still capable of dreaming all things,
touching the stars while one’s feet were here, still standing on the earth (he smiles
feeling something divine almost innocent like a child’s prayer a small fire
inside just enough to keep the soul warm) Believing
all things and hoping all things... Like an ass stubborn old school death
before dishonour... like the Northern star unmoved eternal the sign of great
birth... but if this love already existed how could it be born again or at
least exist in this world and not just in the dream?
...God doesnt’s
makes (broken English) no mistakes, I will give you all of me, no matter how
long it takes... For a taste, if she is the fruit... Just for a taste... I can
almost feel the juice in my mouth, sensations running down my lip, the untamed
of a beast and the thoughts of deep thinker cross paths of time and say “how do
you do lol?” And he understood the madness of love for just a moment, because
that all we have moments”
He found himself again, as time had
taught him to be his own cheerleader and pick himself up when feeling down,
nobody else was going to do it, the business of existing could, rough and dirty,
the weather and “school master life’’ had
taught him this ... (He stutters) these words gave him the strange ability to
inspire himself when he had could find no inspiration of his own and he would write
a poem his own way of sending the pain away and feeding the hope.
… And so as time does the years passed
by and the Scarecrow refused to listen to the world the seasons changed and he
admired her even more, this love thing surprised him, it seemed to mature but
he found ways to reinvent it so she would not get bored, as he imagined them
sharing it and he lived in-between reality and the dream world like a shaman,
preserving what was left of his sanity by taking counsel in his friends the three
birds, Swallow, Owl and the Eagle. Hoping and knowing that one day this
love thing would prevail … or was he losing his faith, even worse was he losing
his mind, but then again you had to be crazy to fall in love in the first place,
so he thought at times “real love was
not for the weak hearted, those of the nervous disposition and weak bladder”, but
as always he took comfort in the words
he heard the young pastor from the village say as he would practice his sermons
in the empty fields at dawn, with the birds chirping in the back ground and the cricket’s violins acting like a church
choir, more like natures choir and in those moments the world was his ,the pastor’s congregation, he was only answerable to
god, so he was honest and truth was his only witness, comfort was in his voice,
the young preacher clearing his throat...
“The gospel is in vain unless we understand the nature of the father, Please
open to Corinthians one 13:2”
“And I give away everything I
own, and if I had my body over so that I may boast but do not have love, I gain
nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It is not jealous, love is not
boastful, it is not proud,
It is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not
quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury, and it does not rejoice over
wrong doing but rejoices with the truth”
In the church as is in music and in a life
lived with intensity, where hesitation is forgotten and only the moment is
allowed to breathe... and yes indeed... in love but only when true love peers
into the world through the eyes a man lost in it “just is exists... unclouded by
judgement” seen through an eye and a smile that speaks so well in silence,
they talk about “feeling it” the
thing I can only describe as the “just is”, that which forgoes reason and understanding, surpasses
the flesh and sits with the soul as if they were old friends catching up. “The
just is” it is wise within its self and thinks without thought, it feels
without a heart, its essence without a soul, but I do know it is connected to
the forever source, somewhere along the line the young preacher opened his
heart, mind and soul at the same time and his voice let it be known to the world
he was “feeling it” and he was in that something which must of being that “just is”, in the silence in front of nature and
god slowing down time piece by piece, taking
it all in as the Scarecrow did day in and day out, this was his world (the Scarecrows world that is) the young
pastor had entered the dream world, foot down dust rising he walked in and he
liked it, the dream world had a simplicity and peace about it which made you believe all things
were possible because they were. In here he saw things as they were and not
distort by the fear teachings of the world we are given as we grow older and
give birth to our cynic, in here (the dream world that is) was a desire to
create, to create what I don’t know but the create was always strong, it was
like you could almost see through the eye of the architect himself ... umm yes?
The
young pastor tilting his head to the sky and nodding acknowledging God’s presence,
before returning to the scripture, in a strong convicted voice unlike his usually
restrained voice which he had when he stood in front of the congregation afraid
to be judged (why?) for his passion that
didn’t make sense to the old heads, for his belief truly expressing himself
didn’t coincide with their expectation of his position, a strange place where
real magic is given up for allusions, convention over innovation, real communion
for religion, see me rather than into me see? In the dream world he was free no need for holding
back his passion the “I am that I am”, he really was and had the potential to be,
the same energy the Scarecrow shared with his love to be accompanied with the same
confusion of making it breathe in reality? In fear of man’s judgement when only god can
destroy a soul (Strange isn’t it) We have a fear of men as mortal as our self, flawed
like our self but don’t fear the God that holds time and eternity in his palm,
the great “I am that I am” salvation and he who is perfection himself (lol a
foolish laugh man) ummm?
“It bears all things, (a tear from the Scarecrow’s eyes for he could
truly understand) believes all things, hopes all things, endures… yes I said it
endures all things. Love never fails. If there are prophecies, they will be
brought to nothing, if tongues they will cease, if knowledge it will be brought
to nothing”
For we know partially and we prophesy partially,
But when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away.
When I was a child, I used to talk as a child, think as a child, reason
as a child, when I became a man, I put aside childish things. (The scarecrow
smiles and nods)
At present we see indistinctly, as in a mirror, but then face to face.
At present I know partially, then I shall know fully, as I am fully known. So faith, hope, love remain, these three, but
the greatest of these is love.
This was it, the whole bases of the
Scarecrows existence to love her... what else could he have known in this life
time, besides it was better than his alleged design, so he thought, to be ugly
and to literally stand in an empty field and watch other things grow while he
himself remaining unchanged accept for the thrashings of the weather that wore him
and his clothes down, but love inside of him was always growing and that made
up for everything else outside, to the world he was just a Scarecrow and he the
Scarecrow all he wanted was to love a Rose... was this so wrong was it such a sin,
“father?”, at times existence didn’t seem fair accept for this love thing that
gave him sanity... at least some times... and then stole it right back? The
World told him he could not have her, but he didn’t want to have her or possess
her... he wanted to be with her if you could understand, both of them in act of
free will given to them by Mr God. (He looks up to the sky blinded by uncried tears in the back of his
eyeballs, the melody of heart playing the Spanish guitars, tequila heavy in the
veins he closes his eyes and lets the melody take him away, his rain tears start
to paint that mural again on his cheek but somehow he smiles, love drunk will
drive you crazy). She was his choice and he would be hers like the moon
and tide understand each other that was the great hope (looking at himself
unsure how to feel).
“Could I be hers... her choice… a Scarecrow as I am (internal reflections
scar his mind) if she loves me back then yes, and we won’t care what the world
thinks or what the world says about us, they’re just jealous of something this
beautiful, this indescribable, this unbreakable, this sweet this true?”
How could he with all his ugliness be
part of her world of beauty or was it the curious voice of fear and self-doubt
in civil war with courage and patience’s in his head, the god within if it
existed whispered to him like a whisper in the wind that it was real this love
thing, and that he needed to refuse to listen to the world and shake it off, he
couldn’t be allowed to sit on the double edge blade of doubt in combat with the
three monkeys, to be deaf, dumb and blind to what he knew to be true which was very
simple, love existed he just needed to find a way to bring it from one world to
the other, he just wished he had a map
maybe a compass (laughing to himself drawing lines in the air for
direction).
He had existed long enough to see
life born and witness death, it is here where life becomes a true school master
teaching without a class and over the year he had learnt well, so he knew well
that there was a difference between right and wrong achieving a dream and
living a nightmare, yet worse to be still, and be guilty of living a
meaningless life and then have the audacity to blame fear for the paralysis and
so... So the Scarecrow often asked himself and his own shadow whom over time
had become his best friend was this faith hope or obsession, was this being uncompromising
to a principle and fighting the good fight for his belief for his love? Or madness,
well let’s be honest in the depth of his solitude he spent much time alone in conversations
with self... Internal reflection or lunacy, could he trust his own words, and
could he trust himself? He noticed from watching humans that great pain gave
them the strange ability to lie to themselves …
(A breathe of frustration and hopelessness)
he digs deep inside himself thinking of pain equity, he had invested to many
tears to many smiles to much life just looking her way loving her, she had made
his life worth living with each season and he had never asked her permission
nor deposited in her the same happiness he owed her, whether she wanted him or
not for all these years she had given him purpose come what may he would see
this to the end, to the very end, he had being created and one day he would be
destroyed but what was in between was
his and his alone… well maybe theirs if life would be kind.
“I
know I already have the love, I can’t see it, but I can feel it, I have
imagined it, I am lost right now father... I don’t real know what the next move
is father?” looking up for Mr God? (One could almost hear the
Bob Marley song “I don’t want wait in vain for your love”). Scarecrow shook it off quickly
and continued in this thing we call life, one heart beat at time following the
symphony of his soul beat as he had no heart,one breathe at a time, he refused
to be told by the voices of doubt that he could not be with her and most of all
that he could not love her. (Scratching
his head) “I just need to figure this out?”, not in a psychotic I am
going to stalk her way, not at all more in a I’m going to trust in Mr God’s way
even thou I am not sure of his intentions, (even thou all he knew of him, this Mr God person was that
he was wise, and what the young scared pastor had said of him in an empty field
over the years) The very pastor
who would be lucky just to be a shadow of himself because the same fear that
existed in him taunted the Scarecrow ...ummm? the same fear that is trying to seduce him to
give up on the dream of love and settle for less, but time and conviction would
change this condition to die slow or to step up in the face of the possibility,
everybody in life comes to a fork in the road ,until you reach this place in your
life, very few people I know can truly say what they would and what they would
not do especially after long suffering when one is weary and tired what I call
the 40 days of fasting and Satan shows up, yes, no … yes? Where compromise was
never an option, compromise didn’t have a heartbeat but in the silence for the
first time... it becomes one “dum dumm... dumm dum”
an easy road for the weary feet to compromise that is? is that a yes, no, maybe?
Suddenly it which had no life becomes an
option when there seemed to be none, would he refuse to change for that he had uttered
and suffered for, for so long or was the temptation of relief to beguiling?
The wind blows past and stops observing
the poor Scarecrow in deep thought the sparkle in his eye was dimming, he was
watching for the truth in the field, which was that everything around him in
the empty field changed except for him and quite honestly it hurt… everything
in the field had another of its own kind and it hurt… and for the first time
the Scarecrow felt a new emotion worse than fear... he felt alone, all alone. This
love thing was supposed to be a life giver but it was killing him slowly. They
say the truth will set you free but this felt anything but free... so maybe it
wasn’t the truth?
“I need to
break these chains, Freedom? ... Mandela ... Freedom (strange)?” snuck
out from another silent breath... as he looked at his wrists he looked at the
distance and then he looked at her. He raises his right fist reluctantly for he
knew his struggle was far from over. The tears flow in a moment of weakness the
mural on his cheek becomes clearer. But time is the teller of all things and
the story wasn’t done yet for Mr Wind had rushed to visit Mr time and Mr fate,
provoked to action by suffering of the Scarecrow and the silent cries of a Rose,
the “father has heard his sons cries” he told them and they conspired all night.
As fate does when you questioned it, it somehow shows up throughout our lives and
it manages to answer us back, it eventually put the Scarecrow in a testing position,
a time to fade into the shadows, to be dry bones in the earth or take action
and shine as the sun and moon do unexplainably with a hint of god’s grace. The
farmer came out one day and sat with the Scarecrow as he had often done in the
past and told the old Scarecrow.
“You have served me
well old friend we have seen many things together over the years somethings we wanted
and somethings we loathed, somethings we just survived but time never looked
backward and somehow we pushed forward... yes we did (taking his pipe out) but
the times have changed and everything is now about money, (laughing) profits
and not prophets in the process of being part of the greater vision we lose
sight of what’s important to us. They twisted the payments on the land and bought
me out and tomorrow they expand across to next farm then us, my friend I guess
we have both become out dated so we must go…”
Sitting down next to the Scarecrow lighting
his pipe and babbling on, clouds of smoke rising past his head like he was
releasing ideas in a comic bubble about the economic times recessions, fear of death,
and a certainly uncertain future in the suburbs but this was nothing new to the
Scarecrow. He relatively took pleasure
in the one way conversations if you could call them that, noticing a trait
funniest about humans, they talked a lot and often they don’t listen, nope not really...
not at all they didn’t listen to each other, they didn’t listen to Mr God or themselves
even when the inner light spoke and their instinct wanted to guide them...
tragic and funny they even didn’t listen
to themselves even when they gave themselves good advice, and where everyone is
talking and no one listens there is chaos there is deafness and there will
undoubtedly be pain because of selfishness, loneliness and fear, not quite like his own, this fear was
duplicity and perverse, they seemed to come from opposite ends of a spectrum
the fears for his fear wanted to taunt him into un belief, but never the less
conflict... every time, but all were deaf
except to their own pain, I guess loneliness is born and grows that way
and maybe that’s why he felt lonely for the first time he wasn’t listening to himself,
or it must have a close cousin or twin (he reasoned with himself ) , misunderstanding
must be his name, so much of man’s iniquity was born of this inability not to
listen, to communicate, which is to give and receive at the same time, Umm? Alas
the farmer had found someone to listen to him
when the world got crazy as it does, he often walked out into the middle
of the field when he thought no one was there, most probably the same way the young pastor would find
counsel in the emptiness of the field ( away from the world) far away from
people in order to find one’s self (one of those human
contradictions), and it here he speaks his truest thoughts and deepest
feelings, he (the Scarecrow) remembered the pride in the farmers voice and the
fear in his head as he assessed his manhood when his first son was born, he
didn’t want to be like his own father cold stern strangely loving but seemingly
emotionally absent, he wanted to be engaged and supportive yet he was setting
out to walk a path he had never walked before unsure of the steps to take in
the darkness of life, where mistakes were costly after all, they were children
not experiments or toy’s once you break them you just can’t take them back, his
father had dropped emotionally enough to
do some decent damage and here he was about to take the same walk, had he
learnt the lesson or would he be destined to repeat the sins of the father?
“Would he be man enough to be a good father?”
...
That deep silence that spoke with no words
sniffles and smothered tears... which they shared when the farmers father
passed away and he had to start his own ways and carry old traditions and in it
all figure a way to merge the two, even more the tears and fears the farmer
felt when he had his own mother pass away, for she had being his rock
emotionally and his soft place, his counsellor, a grown man lost for direction unsure
of the next move as the Scarecrow often felt strange about the love thing, it
(love that is ) seemed so powerful and strong, yet so easy to lose knowing that
he craved it desperately but could he himself handle it, often we ask for
things from Mr God not truly understanding what we are asking for ? The constant
forward motion of time always brought change and some change was not so pleasant
and love didn’t feel like love any more, but love never changed we do, it’s
called process... but it was necessary the change that is, sometimes our soul’s
feet don’t want to move, our souls soles are worn out and our ankles swollen
and we have to engage the heart of the ant and live for another and not ourselves
because we would rather lay down and die, but for what we love we will keep
moving regardless of how we feel.
The scarecrow often
wondered about the pain of gaining this love thing and then losing it... always
curious about gaining it shivering at the idea of the loss of it, having tasted
it, but he could not fall into the trap of being scared of having… humans
always fear dusk that’s how they fail to enjoy the day, because they panic at
dawn when they should just let it flow.
Over the years the farmer discussed the stress
of the economic changes, recessions and all the changes life had brought by
simply growing older as a man. How the time had passed (it seemed that time was
as precious as the love thing and humans for some reason don’t value their
youth until they get older… strange of them?) the learning of new technology
and farming techniques watching cultural change and fashion fade, new concepts
talk of travelling in the heavens among stars with no wings, lingo changed from
“good day” to “what’s up?” I never made the connection “Scarecrow always says
good day (nodding to himself) the only things that up is the sky”. The only
thing that was constant was the change itself not actually the changes ...
economic spiritual physical changes as god had designed them accept for the
spiritual changes which dwarfed the truth with strange teachings that moved
away from true north ... true north the love thing, Umm the mystic childlike of
us if we didn’t forget that sat with time and angels before time playing chess Umm?
Over the years the Scarecrow noticed one thing
to be always there, that which was constant change...
Change in himself in the Rose everything around them was always
changing... Even the mural on his face changed with each storm (every time he
shed tears) umm? As the Scarecrow had watched the farmer age from
a young man, long brown strong curly hair with a strong back and pep in his
walk ideal’s in his speech and the twinkle of dreamer in his eye. To grey
streaks of hair amidst a bold island of skin (ha-ha) with hunched shoulders from
stress and years of working the land, he no longer kept ideals in his speech
but somewhere in his head like old books on shelf with dust from lack of use...
The twinkle was more like a dimming little star, like the ones he watched each
night, waiting for one to fall so he could make a wish about him and his Rose...
he knew well (the Scarecrow that is...) the problems in farmer’s marriage that
had troubled him and his wife issues of intimacy , he wasn’t too sure what sex
was but its sure did sound fun, he (the farmer)wanted to be the man she met and she needed him to be the man he was right now because of
the changes because that was the real him not the mural he portrayed and it
annoyed her, somehow he seemed to think she hadn’t changed as well what she
needed form had changed, but she loved him and he her they just seemed to be a
little bit out of sync... even though they didn’t tell each other anymore she
missed that “I love you”... the random kiss
dried up but he still he held her hand they could be quiet around each other
and be comfortable so it wasn’t so bad. It was just comfortable I guess,
passion had fallen asleep... it
frustrated both of them silently because they felt they still had so much life
in them to live and to give, their parents had never told them or showed them
how to express it and hence the conundrum they had fallen in, what they needed
from each other was the same just expressed differently but as I said humans
they don’t listen to each other very well umm? back to the moments with the farmer,
often he would question his own masculinity over the years because of the
change thing apparently the role of a man was always changing, Scarecrow found
it hard to understand, men all looked the same to him how could the role change
some dark some light some fat others slim, they all started out as boys they
become men and they died wasn’t how it was supposed to be, but he never
questioned it, the farmer battled with making the right decisions it seemed
being a man was harder than most people knew trying to make his way in this
thing we call life with no strategy accept the one his father had left him and
he really didn’t want to follow it. Trying to be the provider for the home, the
rock and the soft place for all to lean on the back bone of the house but he
himself thinking he had nowhere to draw on as a well so he thought... not knowing
she was there for him, his very own wife, his well, his rock, his soft place. I
think if he had spoken to Mr God more he would have known this, she was full affection
for him in the tender of her smile and silent nature and maybe that was the
problem she never really spoke up often she just hoped he would now what she
was for him. If he only knew the time wasted the loving being missed out on...
wait was Scarecrow Just as guilty with the Rose? How could he have missed it ,the
love thing that is when he looked at her every day ... umm it was the pride
monster, it would not of being the first time he (the pride monster) almost
destroyed what they had? I think “it” pride made him blind to the many things
she offered him but he never took?
“If I could only tell him,
but even then would he listen there was still time and there was plenty of
love?”
Her smile would say “The love thing was more than
enough and it was waiting for him right there” The Scarecrow theory
peered into the dream world as always ... for even the farmer’s wife escaped to
the empty field to unfold her thoughts, all she wanted was the love thing, the simple
things they used to do, laying in his arms in an empty field just talking…
random kisses
“he works so hard to buy us stuff and
I can understand why, he is a good man really he is an amazing provider, but things
come and go they break and fold they rust, but moments, moments you cannot get them
back, I miss him … things can’t replace him things don’t hold me, things don’t
stand the test of time like love does, his touch his laugh the bad jokes how his
eyes light up when he comes up with insane idea, that’s the man I married I
didn’t marry stuff.”
Scarecrow would open his lips but the words
they wouldn’t come out as he was a dairy for all. This often gave the Scarecrow
hope as he stared at the Rose reciting his poetry silently into the wind, for
him this was like prayer, for he knew Mr God was listening and hoped he would
be kind enough to carry his words to her. The Scarecrow knew well of many things
she (the farmer’s wife) spoke of and he held her secret’s in the balance of time,
and being a diary for them and from each other made his soul ask so many
questions because the answers were right there it seemed so plain and simple. “You’re
not listening” and it left him confused about honesty, was love really that
complex? I love you, you love me, we tell each other and show each other simple.
Being a secret keeper provoked hope and it also crushed him to see them so
close yet so far, so many things so many questions. But he always remembers he
wasn’t human or was he...?
The farmer talked on and he continued to
recall the distance the farmer felt between himself and his sons as they grew
older, times had changed they moved away from the world he had created for them
and they had let the world shape them into something else foreign, he could not
understand them but accepted them ,after all they were his sons and that would
never change, they forgot the words of the father and the wisdom to, they had become
educated as it were, what was it , did they feel ashamed of him for just being
a farmer and never chasing his dreams all the innovative idea’s he shared with
them around the farm that had inspired them to see a problem from outside in,
which had guided their careers as engineers, he had always encouraged them to
chase their dreams as they were doing now, even though he was good provider and
story teller he never told them they were his dream. How could he compare that
with big city life, the money, women and prestige with his kingdom of earth
(the farm), the old feelings of once being a good provider but failed father,
working hard to provide all they needed and missing out on moments that time
would not bring back and money could not buy so they could have the best education?
All in the name of love and where were they now... umm it seemed he had chased
the dream found it and in the process chased the dreams away by not being there?
The clouds rose from the pipe as the farmer leaned back against the leg of the
cross holding the Scarecrow in place still babbling on about the farms sale “such is life hey old friend”
He continued taking long strong draws on the
pipe looking in the distance and slowing time down he walked into the dream world...
“Time is the teller of all things ... Yes,
no? Yes, I think so, and tomorrow I’ll burn
the field down all of it, and with it … you as well old friend, I have nowhere
to keep you in the city I am sorry truly I am and when you are gone (he pauses like a doctor telling a
patient they are terminally ill). Sooner or later I will join you old friend, (laughter and
choking). I guess we bring new meaning to the words ashes to ashes and dust to
dust (laughing and whispering) but don’t
worry they say death is cousin to sleep, just a deeper slumber and somewhere in
the midst of it we find peace, I hope so, I hope I do...?” (A moment of silence
...Madness... Reluctance... Acceptance). Laughing as he walked away he continued
to talk to himself and after the farmer had left, the Swallow and the Eagle landed
on the shoulders of Scarecrow to comfort him, meanwhile the owl perched on a branch
of hazel nut tree, and one bird asked what he would do? Unaware that time had
shifted for the Scarecrow and in his head those last words were pacing back and
forth waiting for the farmer to come back and say it was a bad joke.
The eagle “You will die
tomorrow and join your ancestors… umm freedom? But what of this
love you so believed in what will you do with it, can you take it with you? We
could carry you away somewhere safe you have watched over us over the years
it’s the least we could do?”
He thought about it for a second but the
thought of being away from her seemed to hurt more than leaving and living
without her! Nothing the world could and wanted do at this moment could hurt as
much as stealing the precious little time he still had left to watch her, he
looked over at her biting his lip yet smiling (he didn’t want her to notice his
aching or his lostness, just in case she was watching, she should remember him
as he is, the pride monster) with eyes full of sadness he soaked up her
artistry, in her stem her petals that one bent leaf, perfect. Could this be it
and where was Mr God when I need him the most, there is no way he cannot hear
my soul crying, it’s so loud?
“You said you would never leave
nor forsake me.”
He said nothing but in the slowest of motions
he shook his head as in to say no to the birds and resided to his fate and then
there was the silence.
(Walk with me now) The crow’s gather on the
telephone pole the nay sayers whispered and laughed amongst themselves tormenting
him, mocking his fate and pain, emotionally spitting on his soul. Normally he would fight back with wisdom and
beautiful words but in this moment he did nothing, he didn’t have them the
beautiful words nor the wisdom, he just slightly moved his head from time to time
wondering where the dream world had gone because he wanted to escape where he was.
It was a lost and painful place to be in the silence alone, frustration and thought
that was it, hope differed makes the heart sick and he was critical. The
problem was even he didn’t know what he was thinking, that’s how lost he was...
The Scarecrow smiled and laughed... then he cried and sniffled inside where she
could not see him, in other words madness ... it was very hard to tell, hard to
read those expressions on his face about now the mural on his cheek was almost
complete the last strokes of the painters brush as tears escaped from his eye, he
looked over at the Rose, he looked down for a while ha-ha (light laugh of madness). Then back at her...There was
that dam silence again... in stagnant motion his spirit paced back and forth
trying to make sense of it all. I think
we have all experienced it and can’t explain it (the
silence that is) He exhaled as if he wanted to give up his life there
and then to separate his spirit from the twigs that represented him in life, nobody
knows where he went in those few minutes... in his heart... in his mind... we know
there was thinking and feeling, an internal civil war with causalities evident
from the tears swelling up behind his eyes the blood of the victims of internal
war, slayed emotions being spilled over. But that’s all we know, watching him
biting his lip, facial expressions betraying a journey through space and time. He
was digesting the situation accepting it like a bitter pill that would never
heal him just doing what they said “...I... I... would the pill heal me please?”
(Sarcasm because he felt there was nothing worth healing he didn’t have a heart)?
Knowing at the end things could only get better. He hesitates to speak his lips part (a drop of sap takes flight from where he bit himself). He
comes back from wherever the silence had taken him and time catches up with him
again.
“I ... I am tired (looking
for breath) I have never being a good Scarecrow (he confesses laughing) I have
lived my life for love, this…this ... love, this love is it a lie? If
it is, let me die for it and somehow bring some truth to light because the
truth is life doesn’t feel too good without it. I don’t want it life that is
without the love even if it’s only me giving it”
A
tear peered through the corner of his eye but refused to fall and just sat
there seeing the world as he (the scarecrow did) trying to make sense of all
the commotion and conflict on the outside that was causing the war within that
was trying to drive them out, and he the Scarecrow replied himself.
“I will enjoy
what god has given me which is the rest of the day to watch her love her, he
answered my prayer a long time ago even when I didn’t know, you see (a light
laugh with hint of madness) sight is the ability to see (looking at her) and
vision is the ability to interpret, I see god’s artistry, I feel and interpret his
grace when I see her and smell her a classic tale of the gift and the giver. There
are two ways to enjoy a butter fly’s beauty, as a butter fly is a reflection of
free soul you can keep it in a jar and
enjoy it for a while, but you choke it off until it wilts and dies as is what
happens when you take away “free” from anything and any one the most prominent
aspect of the butterfly is killed by our own desire and selfishness, and when
ones desire is served, the beauty is gone forever and you have nothing left but
our own death to walk to alone and we walk a painful green mile… (But my love
will live on after I am gone he thinks) ... Or you can leave it in the wild the
butterfly that is and from time to time be blessed when it comes to you and
share its beauty with all over again, and the moments are eternal may be not
for you (the Scarecrow taking time to look at the crows without malice,
actually with pity knowing they would never eat a fruit so sweet as this love,
and even the crows started to feel a lacking from his words) But for me, and
every morning and season I get to fall in love with her over and over again and
she is the reason Mr God has given me time to enjoy her presence and essence and
I am grateful, what more should I ask for (well maybe to hear her voice in a
sentence). I have been a Scarecrow allowed to love a Rose even if it’s only in
my head and I will never know if she loved me somehow I am okay with it, I
could of being a Scarecrow who lived to scare crows, I will take the love in my
head over nothing at all, it is with the mind that we worship so I conclude somehow
it is with the mind we must also love? More time... more... ha-ha? No, it hurts too much wanting all this time,
as for me I am ready, I have experienced time... time, give me peace if it
means death, besides when I get home I can always ask Mr Gods to allow me to
watch over her from the other side above the clouds, you know they say he is
kind man so my chances are good he will let me but I can’t want for forever”
Moments like these a new silence
speaks so well and explained where it had taken him, do you know have you ever
being there? (A truck passes slowly on the dust road, as eagle owl and sparrow left
their friend, from the radio another Marley song.)
Three little
birds upon my door steep
Singing
sweet song, of melodies pure and true
And this is
my message to you boohoo
Singing
don’t worry about thing
Cause every
little thing will alright …fading
Watching the dust rise and fall while
slowing down time and taking it all in piece by piece looking at the whole
field again like it was the first time, it felt like looking over old photographs
and checking for the details just in case there was something he had missed
over the years, with the sparkle back in his eye’s he just smiled, his emotions
swaying back and forth as the waves of the ocean do crashing on the shore as
they crashed on his sanity a place between gratitude and a deep wordless
emptiness that allowed him to feel thing’s as if it were for the first time, in
this moment understanding and reasoning where not allowed in this place only “just is” feeling it, her fragrance and good memories
that kept him company for the rest of the day, and as the news spread good old friends
passed by to say their goodbye’s the crickets,
the moles , badgers especially the young birds he was there motivator. It is hearing
when hope is painful because a part of you wants to hold on and let go at the
same time, faith shatters your shoulder and crush’s your spine and peace seems like
an abstract concept... But alas... latter on that night... His night he would
own it if he had anything to do with it, as if he himself had conspired with providence,
the Scarecrow ended his prayer as usual.
“In the name
of Jesus, father thy will be done and not my own”.
Something else he had learnt from the
young pastor, the half-moon shone down at just the right angle as if it had been
propped as to where to stand, the stars moved a rounded and sat themselves just
right as to set a mood and get the best view of the event, cupid sat on a cloud
with the other angels and whispered to them
“Take a pen and pad and take notes to this a lesson and you can all learn
something from Scarecrow,” and of course the wind was there to, you
couldn’t help but feel like he was the master mind behind circumstance with a
smug look on his face as he took his place and winked at Fate “unscripted
theatre old friend”.
The Scarecrow straightened out his jacket
brushing off the dust as if it would make a difference he saw the humour in it
after all that’s who he was the kind of person who could laugh at himself, the “school
master life” had taught him a long time ago not to take himself too
seriously or he would suffer from this thing called stress, always “ha-ha” and
did his best to laugh with the world even when it was laugh at him as long as
there was laughter and he could draw strength from it he knew anything was
bearable with laughter.
“The world
takes itself way to seriously ha-ha so did the farmer and that’s how he lost
his hair ha-ha so you need to relax breathe and laugh or you will lose your
feathers ha-ha”
Well
that’s what he would tell the young birds when they fell from the trees and
sky while learning how to fly and land, he would talk to them to chase away any
feelings of being embarrassed or failure, they the little birds would often sit
in the palm of his hands to be encouraged after a failure they were drawn to
the wisdom posed by Scarecrow, for he was truly a student of life after years
of long suffering from wanting to hold Rose he had learnt to draw positivity
from almost anything in the field.
“Try again where and if
there is a will there is way. Hope... and if you try hard enough you will walk
with the wind and kiss the sky, even seeds have to die first before they become
mighty trees”
He straightened his hat up far from
suave and debonair, but that’s how he felt inside and that’s what mattered this
was his moment and he had to own it, and with that he reached into his pocket
and pulled out a piece of paper, he looked toward the grass dropped his head
slightly tilted hat back and forth and raised a hand, as he did so the crickets
began their concerto as if Wolf gang himself was conducting them, but they
sounded more like soft jazz band in the cotton club, and so from his cross he
called out to the Rose timidly but amplified by Mr Wind.
“Excuse me miss I don’t
mean to disturb you, there is something I have being meaning to say to you for
a long time so please forgive the importune of my serenade it’s, Umm you for? (Talking
to himself correctively) I mean it is for you (The wind interrupted in a
whispered breeze speak up boy this is it one chance) it’s a poem, well actually
... it’s a prose … more of work in progress kind of a sonnet what am I doing? (taking
time to breathe... to be still ... fear grips soul ... his voice) its … its ...
It’s for you”.
The Rose looked over at him surprised
but with a smile of intrigue, but remained quiet she watched on as she gestured a nod and giggled as the fire
flies illuminated the path between them,
even the farmer way up in the house asleep couldn’t help but be infected by
this whatever it was that was in the air, after being married for so many odd
years, he loved his wife but they like many couples they had found a routine, a
comfort zone for their affection and they had stopped reinventing their romance
hence they had stopped discovering each other, they created a hiding place for
their youthful passion and for the first time in a long time he was reaching
over to hold his wife as they slept in the old familiar way he used to, actually
in the first way he used to in a way that let her now and spoke to her body without
words and it said
“You are
being held by a man who loves you, will protect you and never leave you”
...
And she pushed back into his embrace as if to say,
“I know I missed you”
It felt nice it had been a while. Meanwhile the Scare crow was clearing his
throat as the fire flies came close to the paper to let him to read. He clears
his throat…
I close my
eyes in the hope that I do not feel the pain of the love I will never get to see,
(he stops as he listens to his own words they echo in his head and heart) ... But
in life 20/20 vision I can see, I guess in life one is never really truly blind
to unfelt love... to such moments... To you... and to you... Would I be the
earth and you a Rose? The dirt with some of the nutrients for your growth
essential for your existence, funny that my desire causes me pain you see you
are a Rose and I am just dirt, passing through a hand, I am not the hand that
holds you and understands you in your prime like the sun and wind do, the hand
that gets to feel your beauty every day, nah? I am the earth the place you go
to when the world has used your beauty up when the world forgets you and
discards your body and I remember your spirit and essence, when your moment has
passed they forget what you are, as if they ever remembered me, my eye’s for
you are eternal, but look here.
(Pointing
at his smile and where a heart should be)
despite your state I want to hold you always, but your still in your prime, and I would not
wish to change that simply because of my
desire, despite what I feel there is
nothing I can do about it for I want
your happiness more than my desire quenched, but watch my tears fall in palm as
I read a poem, maybe (the tears that is) bless my fingers because they are in
pain from not holding you, I look at them they’re kind of rough the kind of
hands that cut down trees, with a need to write in life’s paper and plant a
seed, with poetry now so love can grow latter when you read.. It brings me to
this point where... where... I wonder what god’s hands look like, as I look
from here as I look at the distance between me and you… I marvel first at what
he wrote when he created you and I wonder what needs to written by his hand so we
might be if could take me as I am” ... (Did that really happen, the Scarecrow was lost for words
overtaken by emotion... hesitation and thought... no doubt ... yes doubt tormented
him he looks to the ground and then away he is exposed, his soul is naked his scars
are visible and there was no were to run.)
Something was wrong…
fear, yes fear showed its ugly head it was in his face eyeballing him breathing
cold mist on his face, the Scarecrow realised he was completely exposed. Intimacy, in-to-me -see... walk into the world
I am, the flow and the conflict, the dream world and my realities, my strengths
and my frailties, my smiles and tears my hopes and my fears, my foolish I am
and wisdom I possess my soul and all that I can be, see me? Be what...? The who... what... when... why.... (Head spinning) ... a scare...
crow in? “Love yes I have that, faith umm I have that to … hope? Hope (madness
laughing) hope? I have that’s”. He stops and he looks down to the side to the side
then up, looking for inspiration, reasoning had forsaken him again and here was
fear in front me misty bad breath burning my nostril hairs, tormenting me cold breath
rising off my face nostril hairs burning from fears bad breath, “I am scared” until
an angel whispers.
“Silly Scarecrow
go on your doing fine lose the paper speak from your heart, believe it or not
you have one, you cannot love without a heart and soul love is a choice and its
action”
A voice passes my ear Mr Wind was whispering
again
“Inspiration
is in front of you”
So I looked forward and yes
there she was in front of me inspiration beautiful, like the farmer and his wife,
like the pastor and his chosen life I have to grab this thing called life by
the balls and squeeze until it can scream no more, like farmer always says. I
kill the pride monster with in and turn to face fear but he is already running.
“Sorry wrong poem” ...
In a childish gesture (taking time to chase
fear down in his heart and slap fear in the face “don’t you ever come back
here”) Swagger was back, taking time to compose himself, as he reaches for the
another poem he stops “from the heart”, the mighty eagle grabs his shoulder,
and as he does so, so too does the owl as they carry the Scarecrow to the edge
of the fence a metre away from the Rose.
As he is put down he calls on the fire flies to come close.
“Oh my ... you look even
better up close and if I had lungs you would take my breathe away and you smell
amazing might that be Rose your wearing ha-ha or maybe not the best time?”
You see when one is incarcerated for so long
and then you are set free even to love, our freedom and art are like a brush in
Picasso’s hand, we do what we do and have no idea that we are part of a great
creation and so we tend to feel fear because we are in the unknown but we want
it this allusive freedom this thing they
call love, because we don’t understand who and what we are, and so at first “free” doesn’t feel
so good it hurts because we seem alone, like a baby’s first breathe that’s why
they cry the lungs have never being used and it hurts the same with true love
we have never used the whole love muscle so it hurts. The first breath hurts
and he the Scarecrow was breathing in hard, in his head he was listening to his
own poem over and over again,
“I am the dirt and you are a
rose” …
Again, and again, and
again the silence started taking me to that place, the very place I hated but when
she looked at me and smiled, I had never being this close to her. For the first
time I was truly aware of what I was ... “a Scarecrow look at her she
is gorgeous... the 23 psalms in the flesh ... you must look hideous to her
after all you’re a Sca”. I realised it was not me speaking.
“Stop it !!!!!!!!!!!”
I shouted to the fear in my
head and to the silence “stop it, didn’t I just slap
you just now, you don’t get it, I isn’t going nowhere I have come too far,
liberty or death, look at her and after this it can only be beautiful death do
what you want?”
So I sat myself up, made
myself comfortable raised my hand again so the crickets would change the melody
slow the pace of the music because I want her to feel this like I feel it, and
with a longing I asked her my second question
“What is your name miss?”
“Dee ...”
She replied and
he continued the winds stopped moving just to allow everybody to listen a
little better and all the crickets did well to keep it light in the playing of
the music, the angels leaned forward over the clouds, this is it the Scarecrow
thought the fairy tale either crumbles or ... or it ha-ha (laugh of madness?) “I
don’t know... I am in your hands fathers”
With that his lips parted...
“Where did
you come from
you...yes you
the one that makes fear seem obscure
you make me unashamed almost honest
like the play of child
you yes... you
are responsible for this smile
this is peace?
I had forgotten... it’s being a while
why is it I can look at your face
and not find an ounce of beauty
I think (Hesitation) I remember?
Yes, I do (smile) which part of you isn’t beauty
silly me. Yes, I
stop talking to self in your head
and say something to her before she walks away
"hello Dee"
I am Scare crow
and I have loved you for a while”
She smiles at him, he is embarrassed childlike
almost still unsure of himself but not scared, the fear had been vanquished
when he opened his mouth. She says her second words to him as if they were her
first. (We will leave you to guess what they were like
the first words of your own love said to you?) The Scarecrow spent the
night in deep conversation with her, their words did a slow dance and a times they switched it up to a passionate tango, he
told her things, things he knew, things that came to him right there and then,
but the best part of the night for him was listening to every word she said, he
watched her leaves in the gentle of the wind, her lips move as the words
reached out to touch his ear, her joy and pleasure although he was not part of
it she spoke with him in such away so that he could touch it and share in her
life, her pain and fears which he wish
against wish could sooth, but these are the parts of life that force us to grow
and makes us who we are. He spoke... she
spoke... they spoke... Yes, indeed they did lapping up every moment.
Scarecrow “so this is what it feels like
what the farmer and his wife have its… it’s an amazing feeling I wish it would
never ever (stopping himself a glint of sadness in his eyes) end”
She stopped speaking and he shared
with her his heart “I missed
you... for as long I can remember (tears washed his face like a falls on a
cliff and stopped for the mural was complete.) From the first time I saw you I
have missed you as if I have known you all my life and we were parted in the
ether before we knew time, as if we met before creation in the ether and we
held hands and danced on dawns and with the wind”
She said “the wind used to carry your words to me over the years
they made me smile they gave me courage at night, you made me feel loved soft
tender, warm in winter new in spring clothed in autumn. (Laugh of madness)
never alone, thank you... I was scared
it wasn’t for me the words that is I was curious who you were talking about who
was so beautiful I didn’t feel worthy... but I stole the words from the air anyway
maybe, they were for someone or something else but you seemed to know my name
without knowing?”
Scarecrow spoke
fast and with assertion “it was definitely you (childishly) you felt loved? Then
my life’s has not been in vain? And I
can sleep in peace” but she did know what he truly meant and yet his heart
melted he felt honest this must be the felling of hope achieved, more than a
Scarecrow less than angel, tears once again washed down his face and the mural on
his cheeks were washed away and there he was a Scarecrow as his true self, as
he thought I did something right in this life time, I actually did it I loved a
Rose?
“Wow... (Lost but a good
lost)? Remind me to thank the wind for carrying my words to you... and I missed
you so much all this time what a fool I have being all this time wasted....”
Dee “It seems
time has eternity... (breathing heavily) and we have this night and more to
come ... and we have time and we have each other now no more secrets and more
pride just us”
Scarecrow “Us,
I like that, you about just us? If I could... turn back the han...”
Rosanna “Hush”
She said
“No if’s not to night, if’s are serial time
killers regret won’t give us more time, just you and me right here and right
now, May I ask what took you so long gallant sir?” she said laughing.
He looked around sheepishly then
intellectually raising a finger in the air as if having an epiphany but never
actually saying anything, they laugh their eyes connect they are comfortable in
the silence
“Oh me I don’t know (there’s that innocence and
honesty in his voice again the inner child and inner god meet) but I am glad I
am finally here”
Time has a way of doing its
own thing when it comes to maturing hearts such is life I guess he caught
between being an old soul, and little boy the Scare crow went on all excited...
“I know this guy, called Mr God, (kind of sad)
I have a strange feeling I will see him soon (smiling again) ... Actually I have
heard about him from the preacher, he comes down to the field to practice his
sermons and he piece of work, anyway apparently he is everywhere Mr God that is
I can always see his work but never his hand, sometimes I think I am seeing him
but he keeps changing... (Babbling) anyway I must be a lot like this Mr God” she looked at him rather strange
“why?” ...
Scarecrow
“well...no arrogance is meant for he is almighty powerful wonderful and I am just
a Scarecrow frail and weak in many ways I know I fall short I am not even a man
made in his image, but I am made in the image of man so it works I must have a
little bit of god in me somewhere, a match stick could end my life, but to know
god is to know love and I have loved you since for forever, and you must be a
goddess. Whether you were a twig a leaf a rose or ashes in the wind, all I know
is I, I love you and that’s not going to change neither time nor pain nor fear
can change this and I think it’s because of the god in me”
Shying away as someone who
is presumed to have said too much “god is love
and I love you” he says it to her for the first time looking down into his
chest “I love you”
She smiled at him.
“Your funny I like
that I guess? For someone with nothing in their head but straw your wise, because
god is real I know him he made me and I see him inside of you”
(they laugh) she gestured him to come
close, somehow he leaned over (with love anything is possible) she kissed his
cheek, cupid nodded his head “it’s done” … father sand took some grains out of
the glass as to give them more time on this their night...
“I know god he is real to” he said and smiled. They watched the sunrise the wind as always
was close and carried the sound of ocean to them just for that moment to be
just more right... and then Umm. Then next day came, they were not ready for next
day, not at all. The farmer set the field on fire as he had said would and as the
flames marched toward the Scarecrow he smiled at them pretending not to be
scared. The only true feeling of pain he
felt is how much he was going to miss her. With a look of not knowing what will
happen next, an expression which was almost blank that we all make at one point
of life or another? In the hope of masking his true fear, which was not death
it was losing her and love so soon after gaining them completely, he suddenly
understood the farmer tears when his mother passed away it wasn’t the loss of
it life it was the time that could of being spent better if not for fear and
the pride monster, we all go to the other side because we all owe a death but
the understanding of life love, and simple things came too late and with a
sense of inevitability it was the time wasted that hurt, the time they could
spent loving each other was stolen by fear and pride.
She shouted and begged Mr God to save
him, she tried to move so hard she almost uprooted herself... she screamed out “Father if you are so real save him
...PLEASE save him he did nothing wrong but love me ...!” Hopelessly she
cried out ... The flames where searing so hot even she could feel them at that
moment, she would have rather of being in the flames with him than to be alone
in this world cold and alone again, there are things worse than death in life,
even the farmer had some tears in his eyes... the loss of another friend.
The Scarecrow was in pain but I wouldn’t cry out
because I knew it would have increased your ache “love bears all things” ... I
didn’t want your last memories of me to be some shouts and shrills in agony and
pain, no not after last night, “father Mr God it was perfect” and that’s how I
wanted you to remember me, a flawed being who somehow found the perfect moment
and shared it with you, I was not a Scarecrow I was somebody who loved you,
protected you, made you laugh and adored you, I was somebody who saw past the body
of a Rose and saw you all of you as you truly are and that’s what and who I
was? And so he smiled… betrayed only by the
tears which refused to be restrained in the heat, never not once did he cry out,
but the tears which ran down his face and as his lips gestured to her told the
story of his pain...
“I am okay I am not
going anywhere... it will be over soon
you will see, Please stop crying for me remember what God said and I
will never leave you alone nor forsake you most the time we can’t see him, and
if there Is a Mr God in me, Then I will never leave y...” (He couldn’t finish
the pain took him by storm)
But it was obvious he was in pain as the
flames began to consume him and he fell from his cross... to his knees ... “your will be done father ... into your hands”.
He said looking to
sky... she watched on with a gut
retching pain in her heart until she could see him no more... and from the
flames she heard his last words ... “I still love you
(light laughter) you Yes you... the one that makes fear obscure”.
(Gentle loving laughter...ha-ha) The
fire raged on for hours the fairy-tale crumbled the “if’s” that had being
denied yesterday fell free like rain in her mind the if’s that had no place
last night came to mind flooding her with sorrow, Silence ruled the world for a
while she was taken to that place he had gone before... it was not only her the
silence and, silence’s journey’s to those places (where each one of us go) that
same silence we all experience but we can’t explain that takes you some
where only you know where the scare crow friends where silent . The
farmer was silent, the land had no words, the sounds of sniffles here and there
from the young birds... whispers from the tree’s... and when the wind passed by
he was deeply saddened, and so he mustered a small part of himself like a mini
Tornado. Gathering the ashes of Scarecrow and letting them settle at the base of
Rose... a small storm broke out for a second and the ashes sank down to her roots
funny enough he finally got to touch her, she smiled when she heard the Scarecrows
voice from the earth he was a bit muffled but it was him. “I told in isn’t going nowhere” ... as the wind left he
simply said... try separate them know, let them try the wind left and laughed”
This how the story ended
in the dream world, in the real world the Scarecrow was carried by the wind to
the heavens he let go of the love thing so she could find love again because
true love puts others before its self-hurt, and he asked Mr God to allow him to
watch over her from that side and visit her from time to time in her dreams, as
For Dee she healed as best as one can when a heart is Brocken and she learnt to love again not quite the way she loved Scarecrow for that was a
once in life time love , but loving was the only way to heal herself and honour
his memory .
The end ~Tapfuma Gerald Munengami
Poetry
sample from: Lost but not forgotten: the collection
This
part of me
I have bumped into this part of me again, which I felt was dormant or dead
This part of me seeks perfection and peace knowing I will never see neither nor
achieve them in this world This part of me wants to rise to great heights
knowing we could fall, because we have done so before ... I want to lay down
and rest but it insists on getting up and trying again (madness I tell you ha-ha
madness)
Although inside we are more than one in this world this part of me makes me
walk alone
This part of me dates me in silence, in the absence of people yet in
the presence of god
Where my souls speaks to my mind and conferences with body, and the
mind is true to the heart I am yet to decide whether I like it or hate it,
But it is a part of me so hence most welcome unfortunately it hurts We
sit in silence, and converse with no words We laugh with no breathe, and shine
with a light not of our own, this part of me reminds me of words the world has
forgotten like Honour courage selflessness ... umm (moment of thought) the list
goes on ... the words they hang.... hang on suffocated by mental blindness
They are forgotten ... forgotten words make me smile because of who
they are, they have tenacity... I sense them with a surge of pain...
Deep in the soul... to see them hanging lost in time... like strange fruit in
1902
The shadow pawn that painted the crow black (few understand that’s all right
with me)
The storm that raged (laugh of madness) and they didn’t see a drop
The softest place on earth for me to exist, the complexity of god because you
are a rock. In stagnant motion we walk on/ in un-cried tears, and time becomes
our currency... We play chess as we debate the purpose of tears and smiles
They seem to be a waste of time... but they tend to cleanse the souls over the
years
The wars are personal ones ...victories losses, the wars that go on unnoticed
in between my ears. Inspiration sits and ponders on my forehead contemplating
the right moment. Fear waits for my soul to look away so it can creep closer to....
my heart
Courage faith and indecision locked in immortal combat... Stomp fears head
my soul looks at its twin which would be my infinite ... ... communion
they laugh with no breath... They cry with tears... and they live with all life...
this part of me...Turns around to walk away ... strange because you know we
will always be one
Gerald
Munengami dedicated to getting to know myself
Think
They Tell me not to, just but sometimes I think
I think if they could accept me, the little beauty in me god gives of himself
to all
It would stop me from amplifying my ugliness… when I am stupid enough to
retaliate
To the hate they/you give me, stupid enough not to love myself by accepting
their stupidity and malice when there is god within.
So Sometimes I think to stand
To stand apart from the crowd as well as on my own from myself (the third eye)
This place is exposed and vulnerable but creative is I can master my mind.
Few can stand solid in this place called alone... called an
individual... Called me?
I see courage in this place as well as tears, scars greatness, pain and
sacrifice
it’s not for the faint hearted, the weak minded nor the unbeliever…. this
place?
I fear it … but it draws me close, it is in this place life speaks to me in
small ways
Like god does a times... When I pray without my own but with my soul’s lips.
And then... Sometimes I think to stand up …
And from up in look down from once I was... Without down there is no
up,
And up dares not to exist
without down as her stepping stone and... Tale
Without each other they cannot be… they have their own strange love affair...
Down is not a degrading place, up just means there was always better … there is
always hope for the next foot step?
And from up I look up with heart filled with humility gratitude and desire.
And she speaks to me in simple ways this “up” person… She pulls me close
as my heavenly father does... Always telling me there is a little more...
And so… Sometimes I think to stand up and move
For even when we are still... physics and chemistry state we always moving...
Even when many of us move we are still... ... we are just Not conscious of it
So I think, I will just move even if it’s in the wrong ways
At least that way my right can correct my wrong... So in think...
I personally wish to move with purpose and might and force if I had a nickname
then let it be storm...
A quiet storm, sand storm, a fire storm, a snow storm, a hurricane storm a
potential storm!!
I move Unpredictable as gods divine will... living in me
. (Laugh of madness) this movement it speaks to me... I think it
speaks to you
It translates as growth and
is often accompanied by pain and revelation
this storm it speaks to me to in simple ways as gods does sometimes
all because sometimes ... just sometimes... I think?
Tapfuma Gerald Munengami aka
“child” to the thinkers and dreamed
Honesty (my only and first Irish poem considering I am
not Irish)
She asked me “is there a moment greater than
this you’ll never forget”
I paused to query honesty hesitated... he shook
his head a didn’t listen
“Yes...”
“When and what was that?”
I leaned back exhaling ...and smiled “hash yes
… my first cigarette”
She left...
Later in life I confessed to her my new love in
ways that tongue was never meant to.
She asked... “Is there another who you have
told in ways such that you soul unfold”.
Honesty looked blankly at me I raised my brow
with my glass
“Yes”…”to whom was it...?
“To beer … but not any beer it was a cold beer
(laughing gently but honestly)
I never saw her again
I fell in love for what I think was the last
time and she asked me “is there anyone who has ever loved you this hard I have”
You would of thought wisdom would have taught
me better by now
As I said “yes” “who ...?”
I sipped my beer and dragged on my cigarette
As I laughed out “GOD love a sinner”
She stood up took two steps away from me and
showed me her scars
“And know we do not have to tell each other
lies about who we are”
Tapfuma Gerald
Munengami Dedicated to annoying and unnecessary honesty ...priceless
My
My trustiest thoughts are found in the parts of my mind I dare to, but I am
scared to explore because of the places they take me....
My true beauty is held by the callus’s of my soul from a life lived hard... no regrets...
so we think?
My originality is found in the things I am still discovering about myself which
shock me... just when I think I know me?
My truest pain is a secret only god knows... as it should be ... hush
My revelation is when I want to fly but
I am not sure which is broken, my wings, my heart or my mind but somehow I am
in the sky . Then I realise he is holding me up again ha-ha (Father)
My fullness is when there is nothing left , and this state of being doesn’t
cause me fear I gave my all.
My truest source of pride is my mother’s smile my families touch my lover kiss.
My greatest challenge... Is simple obedience when god speaks?
My truest movement has always been in my first step and my last breathe...
My truest sin is the same as my strength... Lack of and the presence of faith
...
My greatest annoyance is this thing called courage... And what it demands of
me?
My truest desire mummy? Is to learn how to love ... (in a serious)
my heart... Can only be given to those who can accept without understanding...
My truest need for rehab is silly accepting that in am not in control... And
staying in that mind state...
My truest dream is to one day be good father... That’s all, everything else
seems obscure ...
That’s me and my... so what about you...
Dedicated
to those who take time to learn about themselves
Gerald Tapfuma Munengami aka
“child”
Laugh (Of Madness)
Dedicated Nana Ebola Hassan
I knew this was a love letter
because I didn't know much at all
angels with broken wings
whispered
in my
ears, and tried to tell me
but pride had me like
the three monkeys deaf, dumb and blind.
Your eyes and presence my renaissance...
The only place on earth where I know it won’t hurt to exist...
Regret becomes the rose
in the hand of
the hunch back of Notre Dame.
It’s not being lost that scares me.
It’s being found, but I smile
angels whisper love is a verb, not a noun ... if feel?”
Tears fall I laugh, because I am found
for the letter is in your hand... your eye’s look at mine...
And..?
Gerald Tapfuma
Munengami... to a first love
Why I write:
trying to explain a lot... when I say very little
“Why do you write?” “Well … once
I looked in mirror and I saw an empty space, I opened a book and saw a blank
page, and I thought to myself what a waste, this can’t be right ? So I wrote in
this book to make it feel better maybe to make myself feel better”.
“What did you write”? “laughing things, different things, anything just
trying to fill up the pages as I wrote the pages felt a bit uncomfortable it
(This book) wasn’t used to being written in, if you could understand much like
stumbling through life, mostly my fault spelling mistakes and grammatical
errors, life errors here and there but I understood what was written, but yeah
slowly the pages started to fill up”.
“What about the soul…?” “What about it?”
“Did it fill up as you wrote?” (Looking away and around as if searching for
an answer in the ether). “I am not sure but
I know that there are tears not worth crying and the soul knew this well….
the soul wasn’t lonely, but it never hesitated to ask company to stay even thou
most of the time it felt something’s where better not said silence was often a
keeper, often it would have asked its own shadows questions, reflections and
traces left by the ink of writing on a page if it could be filled and what the
point of it all was? Often the answer was...
do you really want to know would it matter... should it matter...and
then there was silence and that’s about it...about the soul.
“And the pages?”
“What about the pages?”
“What did the pages say?”
“Not much really that was their nature...(taking time to think) …to say
a lot without saying much at all…a lot
of people read and passed judgement some
learnt, some laughed, others mocked, few read the whole book just pages here
and there.. .. .. As for the pages they just did what they did best... all they
knew how to do... be a page... umm why what did you want the page to say?”
“You have a point? Were the page and the soul one in the same?...
(looking up to the sky with smirk)
... “umm… the maybe? Actually... no... Not at all...very alike though, but know
not one in the same, like the hand of two lovers when they hold they are one
but they are not the same, maybe they belonged, at least they have a sense of belonging
and company” .. “Your complicated”, “not really my simplicity tends to fool
most, but I cannot apologise on her behalf”
(Frustrated) “what do you write about?”
“the wind doesn’t know why it fills the sail ,finger don’t know why they
want to touch hot or cold but they do know they want to feel despite the
consequence , the lost want to be found even when they give up hope, hate needs
to hate it has no exact aim” ..(Annoyed) whats that have to do with what you
write”. “Nothing really I thought that sounded good (winking) hidden truths and
you missed it again (laughing to self)”, “and then...” “and then there was JUST
IS”. “Which is?”
“It just is, that’s why I write, I guess that’s the answer to your question”
, “that’s like asking why? and replying why not?”
“No it isn’t, it just is”,
“expand”
“I know of god ... and god knows me I have no answer accept it just is
(with a smile) why do your ears allegedly listen why do your eye’s allegedly
see, but in this case don’t listen or see?”
Mummy good question.
I stop talking to myself we laugh… yeah we laugh... indeed we do
Tapfuma Munengami dedicated to those who have learnt
to be their own cheerleader
