Dear Life, Dear Death 1
Dear Life, Dear Death 1
Some time ago I was dealt a heavy hand and would rest only when I have played all my hands and pen’s thoughts out. I only hope that you are going to get it and that it reaches you. I have had to write this letter because there is something that’s been a terrible torture on my heart and mind for years now.
It’s either I have to say it out or continue being weighed down by its corrosive hurts until God knows when?
Your life…, you know that some year, not so long ago, she was here with me. You haven’t forgotten, have you; her sweet chastity, her sweet warmth, her sweet beauty, her sweet courage. You haven’t forgotten, have you; the true light she shed on my otherwise darkened life; the faithful and trusty shield that I leaned on in my times of troubles and the honest heart.
Do you want me to talk about her form, her face? You haven’t forgotten, have you; her sensitivity, her inspiring and understanding help, her hopeful disposition, as newer and truer as the spring’s sprouting lovely greens!
It’s you life who used to let me have all that. It’s you life…, you betrayed me! The death’s thoughts transferred into you life. She died, they all died! Life, why did you let death take them away and you death why did you take them away?
I haven’t forgotten the smile I would love to see again; lightening, electrifying and brightening up the darkest skies turning them to a clear sunshiny blue. I haven’t forgotten the arms I want to be enclosed in and the hands I want all over my body…. assuring, calming and soothing touches like tender touches of the bird’s flying flirting wings.
I haven’t forgotten the lovely face, the shapely form; sweet and shy as I circled them. I was Adam to her, my own Eve.
You death must have known how much I loved those two people even though I never came to know much about the other one because of you. But I used to see her whenever I looked at Dora. She was a beautiful girl like her mother and I was looking forward to pouring all my loving affections on that daughter of mine.
Dora and I both loved our daughter even though we never touched her in our arms. Killing them was as natural as slaughtering fattened cows for you death and you accomplished it in the most unfeeling way or is it the most economical way death? All in one swift move, all in one gulp, all that I had loved; all that during childbirth!
Hope, why did you let me have hope, why? Why did you let me look forward to a wife and a child, only for you to dash this hope at the last moment? Hope, you swallowed them in one gulp, all that I had hoped for. Were you satisfied, were you satisfied hope?
If not, why didn’t you swallow me too, why didn’t you just shut your mouth and stop lying about having hope and refuse to swallow them as they were being lowered into your yawning mouth hope? No, you didn’t! You only did that when they were safely inside you, and when you knew they would never leave you. No you didn’t! Prove me if I am wrong. Puke them out! Just do it. Puke them out for me! You wouldn’t dare hope!
Then time you started assuring me and telling me that it was not your fault, neither the fault of death, hope, and life. You say to me it is God’s fault. You say their time here was up. Shame on you…! Shame on your time! Why would you do a thing and then pass the buck on someone else?
You lie time! You are a pathological liar, time!
The God I know couldn’t have done such a thing, a thing that makes me feel so sad because he loves me. And then you started lying to me about time changing all this in a long run. Shame on you! That you couldn’t just help blazing into a rage like a hummingbird slamming into a clean and well washed window? How could time, hope, death and life have helped me when they were in this with you from the beginning?
It is three years now and what have they done?
The pain, and his godhood clustering of sorrow and depressive moods is still there, so poignantly and so profoundly felt. It is still crimson bright, wrecking havoc every day, killing me slowly, pushing me towards damnation. The tears flow unimpeded whenever I am alone.
She left a deep yawning void in my heart and all these tears that I have shed don’t seem to be filling it up but rather it seems like every drop of tear that I have shed has fallen into this void, not filling it up but instead corrosively eating onto its walls there-by deepening it. You say this will change, when and how about now? How about the suffering and the eating away now?
This bruise is now like a stem of an unknown flower that is on my heart smelling of acid burning in my heart and soul, surviving by resisting the abrasive bitter-taste of the thoughts of her which are like an amour-plated catfish swimming through my head, leaving behind painful scales and barbels like decaying teeth that aches and gets all the more worse as long as nothing is done to remove them.
Every night I lie wide awake in the small hours of the morning, feeling depleted and abandoned.
All this is nothing to the uncaring your life, memories, death, life, hope, and to you God. You couldn’t have done what you did death had you cared…, just a little bit of time is what I needed. Bring her back God. Bring them all back to me if you care a little bit about my memories. I want her hope! I need her love! I love her life! Oh, how I miss her God! So very, very much! I hope you shall give out most attention to my request.
Tendai R Mwanaka
There shouldn’t be that polemical debate to engage on how to calculate the value of life or a nebulous take-on at forgetting or precisely its sainted better-half-: forgiveness but just a deeply felt demand for her.