To all my girlfriends,


I should never have set heart to writing this. But once a while, as is the curse of all us men I don’t know from which of the good books, my loins have provided the compulsion, and my brains couldn’t say no to the allure of a little stupidity. It’s invigorating, you know, and I read somewhere that stupid people live a little longer than the big headed ones, not that I remember anything of that.

You have been cause to a couple of wars in my life. I might call you Hitler, or Kim Jong un. But you hardly know who those are, do you? Thank your gods that I don’t have the courage to say that. Like all other normal girls, you will react by saying LOL, invoke the punishment of silent treatment on me, then go on your social media pages to whine about how bitchy, stupid, insultive and abusive your haters are. Honestly, that is your definition of ballistic anger, and I fear it, more than I fear the dark, vampires, lighting and cold bathing water.

Like the rest, you came into my life via defaulted mechanism. I don’t know how. I honestly can’t explain. Where did you and I meet? My dad used to tell me to find a pretty face and a pretty heart. I guess I tried to follow his advice, and I didn’t see the sense in it. Now I do, I honestly do. And we talked; about nothing I can remember, apart from the fact that yours was probably a pretty voice. And out of chivalry and male stupidity i9 offered to walk you home, or wherever you were going. And I have been walking, ever since. Walking everything, tightropes, lies, words. Walking and walking. And I never to stop the walk. Walking to nowhere I know. Into the tunnel of darkness they called love, with no lights.

A few days and I declared I missed you, and you said you did miss me too. And out my sense went through the window. I upgraded you from just a face attached to a phone number to an ideal, and you turned me into a robot, you manifested yourself as a Japanese engineer, fully armed with the art of Machiavelli and connivance, a master chess player. Every whim you would want, from chicken at KFC, pizza at the outrageous in I had never set foot, ice cream from the creamery in Karen. I gorged the wells of my pockets dry to please you. In retrospect, I think I should have started a business with the money I spent, you agree right? No, you don’t, so we will go with yours, as usual.

And I did write you poems, countless poems. I guess I was following in the feet of Shakespeare and shepard.i immortalized you in writing. I know you understood none of them, but for the sake you said awww and sent back an emoji of flames and a heart. And I felt like an emir with a couple of goats tied to the post as gift. But this awwws and flames did come with a cost. A code of conduct that would perhaps be judged as draconian in my sense. But need I lament, as usual you will take the war to your girlfriends, your cabinet of eternal advisers, and I will be on the receiving end of spitfire and numerous whatsapp statuses complains. Who needs to be called a hater, ces`t la vie.

Your smartphone has been your weapon of choice, since it landed smack into your hands, from the robbery of my pockets I guess your nails don’t get spoiled from overusing it as they do when you wash a few clothes. A break here would suffice, for a little hug and a live instagram video, but hold your horses; I never start eating without finishing the food on the plate, as woeful as the cooking is. Look, I am not saying your cooking is bad, am just telling you to learn the art of mixing recipes well, especially salt.

Am happy, you do teach me a few things. No, not those ones you are thinking, they are too conventional. You didn’t teach me how to fold clothes, and to make my bed. I learned that from boarding school. But, you have shown how to tolerate soap operas, and to cry whenever Alejandra and Sophia break up. And to text, in cryptic words like LMAO, LOL, TTYL that even the army intelligence wouldn’t understand. Just my thoughts, but those phrases, or whatever they are should be banned when January ends, we can’t risk now because you will have to be compensated with pizza.

Am thinking of valentine even now. Like most men I am hoping I will be single by then. January isn’t hard and long because I ate all my money, but rather we ate all my money, and you did most of it, as usual. But I know you will be in your elements even then, the tears will come as usual, and I will have to break the bank again as I did in September. Not that was forced, but you can’t fight with masters of the emotional game. Not when their emotions can perambulate at the touch of a switch, and stay that way, till they will otherwise. And I am stuck, in a limbo, but you won’t know it.

Perhaps time has come to tell you truth, as it is. That ours was never love, not as you have forced me to watch in the operas. It was makeshift, one sided and lopsided like a balloon in turbulent air. We both lied to our brains and our hearts, and as won’t the organs accepted. We both fought hard not to show true emotions, and we succeeded. Probably we should put the same energy in other things, we should be actors, and Hollywood will award us with an Oscar. But we can’t let truth hurt us. We can’t let the sword pierce us. We have created a tent from our lies, we will live under it like refugees do, and hope that it never rains. But am not allowed to say that to you either, am I?

My laments should end here. I have so much to say, I might even write a whole book about it. But I have to plug off, and reply to your text messages lest you go on the social court to charge me with infidelity and ignoring you, and arrogance, and hurting your heart as if I was Hannibal. Perhaps I love you, I don’t know, perhaps like the way Indians love meat, and the way Muslims love pork. I will keep on the game, as long as you keep the whip, and I will say yes whenever you bark……

With love,

Your men.








They came unto the river, holding hands,

And the bridge had been swept by the tides,

The gods were against them,

The drizzle didn’t stop, it grew,

The trees swayed away to let them love,

But they couldn’t let the cold fight them,

They hugged a little, cried,

On each other’s shoulders,

Then stepped into the water to cross.


The tales of their stupidity was told,

Across bridges and ridges, men cried,

The women wailed.

The older ones spat and asked themselves,

Whatever had become of sense on earth?

Then stooped into their `waters` to drink.


And those who loved and lost knew,

The pain of one gone,

The beat of the cold to the ears,

They said so as it was, that life again was dead,

If left to find ways through the dark, alone.

They saw the wisdom, and the lie

And they too skipped into the water, to drown.








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