AQUILA and BHARTI go to Rehab

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“Hello, my name is Ann and I am your counselor”, I heard a voice say.

My mind was in my mind, I had no time for real time. Literally, I did, but I had compelled myself to believe that all the occurrences of last month were simply a Facade.  Had the voice carried no effort to be distinctively sweet, I would have peacefully wanted to continue peering through the window to the green sight it presented.

“Come on now, let’s all sing it out”, Ann said.

She seemed to have had quite the effect on the rest of the people that sat in our circumference of chairs, because they instantly broke into chants of “I won’t go back, I threw it all in the dump sack“, “ain’t no party, like a rehab party”

“I am so pleased to have a new handsome young man in our family. please introduce yourself and feel free to share your story”.

She had suddenly looked in my direction, right into my eyes. She had a very pretty face whose beauty percentage accelerated whenever she smiled while exposing white glittering teeth. I guess all I needed was this motivation to return  to real time.

“Hello, my name is Aquila and I am…. I am an alcoholic” ,I said in pain and frustration.

When they all said hello back, I cursed them all out.

“Shut the fuck up, you boring bunch of shitty looking scumbags”. My mind said
The place was weighing me out already. My friends had brought me in last night. I was so agitated, bored and most of all broken. This is no good combination of emotions if you ask me . I was beginning to creep back into the  mind in my mind.

Everything was perfect the previous months until the last one. I had drunk more liquid than an elephant. I was an addict, I was alcoholic. The CEO of ANI Organisation  was an alcoholic. I had never believed in change this quick.
Throughout my life, I was a complete teetotaller. I could never take a sip of vodka when my friends could say let’s celebrate. 2015 African Entrepreneur of the year award came with access to countless glasses of Bourbon, but I turned that part of the offer, down. It was so Ironical that I had turned out this way, well unless you knew my story.

It was Amanda, wasn’t it? Yes it was her. That filth of a woman. I was spending thousands of pounds on her economics course at Cambridge university. In her mind, I had ceased to be her fiancé, but a benefactor because she had found herself a Nigerian boyfriend.

In the mind in my mind, I was thinking I would have handled it better if I had not taken that flight to England just to prove the stories for myself. I was in Manchester for a few days to her ignorance. I had caught her ,while her new boyfriend murdered her womanly parts in cold blood with his pleasure weapon and bare hands. I couldn’t continue hiding in that closet seeing my fiancé responding submisively to this alien. I was so flustered and developed instant massive indignation, that I was soon out kicking the man in his balls.
I was held in a cell for a few hours before the Zambian ambassador came for me. She told me Amanda was badly injured though she and her boyfriend pressed no charges.

“Mr Stresemann you need to put yourself together, the president knows about this” ,the ambassador told me in a serious tone, with a serious face.

“I’m very sorry Aquila” she said, kindly this time..

The few weeks that followed saw me in LivingStone. My room service came from an outside kid who brought me all the bottles I thought could do the cure or atleast hide the pain. I was soon about to begin the powder, but Mwamba found me and the rest of my friends decided it was time to get better.

I was the chairman of  Curb Teenage Drinking Zambia last year and even as  I looked at Ann and the rest of these people, I knew I was broken, not because I had lost all my Jobs, not because the president was disappointed in me, but because I had lost myself, because my mother didn’t raise me this way, because I wasn’t the good uncle Aquila to my nephews.

As I sat in the circle, I knew it was going to be a long ride.

THE  STORY OF JAY  by Bharti

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“Hello my is Jay and I am a coccain addict,I have been clean for a day now ”

It was in the dawn of a friday morning I had too much paper work to do,I wanted to clear my head.I called John he told me to go over to his house he was hosting a party.

It was nothing like I have see before,so many beautiful faces,good music,nice food and I said to myself it is going to be a good night.

Stuck in moment John pulled me over to his table he told me he had something that will lift my mood and spirit,
Watching him about to sniff,he asked me”Want to give it a goal?”

Without hesitation,I did then
BOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!
Next thing I am opening my eyes in the morning on my bed at home.
Slight headache,I am in my boxers,pale face,no shirt,I don’t remember drinking but I see bottles around.

Trying so hard to remember what happened last night,
All I can see in my head is a flashing light,
Re collecting my memory,
No clear picture but I am sure it will be quite a story,
Fast forward,unknowingly it became a diary thing,
Whenever I felt lost in this world,I would sink my self to that routine,
You never admit its an addiction,
But only a moment of weakness that has you sinking.
My family became the enemy,
Everyone around me was over suddenly afraid of me.
At first I thought  it was something wrong with them,
but with time I got tired of this blame game,
I admitted I was the one who needed help and I was being unfair,
This is my Drug Addiction Story,it is all I had to share.

NB: Bharti and I finally did a collaboration and we just wanted to address the issues of alcohol and drug addiction. I am always willing to work with any Zambian blogger or anyone from around the world. ☺Please visit Bharti Here .From the piece, you can tell he is a poet.
Hope you enjoyed. ☺

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IN THE MIDST OF THE DARK

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IN THE MIDIST OF THE DARK

In the midist of the dark I lay
Thoughts ‘creamed’ with indignation, indifference was all to say

How could it be?
That the prince, comfort could not see
Had a curse  befallen him?
A curse so evil that he could not beam
for what had he to pay?
In the palm of his hand his face lay

So when the king saw him, he heard his thoughts clear
His boy no longer knew fear

A boy in their eyes, a man in my thoughts
Penny  for your thoughts?
NO! NO! NO!
I play games no more
Oh yes my heart was sore but no more

In his silence the king had rescued me
I was ignorant of it, but I rode the escalator to where I should be
I saw pain I knew struggle
The mouth would rather have a success tongue caressing it, but hot water it will never want to gaggle

When the world was almost ending, I was given an extension
So maybe I could not give excuses like a kid in detention

Voluptuously, opportunity looked so beautiful like womanly breasts
So I grabbed her with both hands
That one day I will reap my harvest with millions of diameter 15cm rubber bands.

 
NB: I wrote this poem a couple of months ago. I will admit I can relate to it, but since poems are free, you can interprete it in any way you like enjoy and happy weekend.:D

When can we smile?

     WHEN CAN WE SMILE?
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So when can we smile?
To know that everything is over
Shed off yesterday’s hurtful pile
Like the snake won’t allow its old skin to bother.
When can we smile?       

How we never knew peace
Our hearts never knew a jovial second or a while
How we longed for a day we never knew
One day, i could say, one day
One day to smile, one day to rest
When can I smile?

Even if it was sold, happiness i couldn’t afford
but I can always pay melancholy my landlord
How stupid are my riches
Engraved in my skin like stitches
When can we smile?
 

Why so serious?
No don’t you put a smile on my face
The same damn quarrel me and myself face
maybe the smile is just expensive
But one day I will afford it.
So can we smile?
Yes we can.

Interact with me on twitter @aqui_cuteboi_    ©2015

SHADES OF DEATH

Every day I feel death is smiling. Mocking humanity because it is more ‘productive’ than any of us. Every day I feel death looks at humanity like a flower quickly fading.

With all the great men it took away, the pride in his eyes the blind see.
How R.I.P has become more of a word than an abbreviation.
Saying “RIP I will miss you” like we are so sure for a long time we’ll be in this generation.

We cry for others but not for ourselves. When those we buried will never cry for us.
Are we afraid we may get on the same bus? Or is humanity finally generous? To be sorry for one that just found peace?
Or we see him say I am coming for you next in his hiss?

He seems distant at times until we see him on the news bragging of how he swallowed hundreds.
He must be really contaminated because he swallows any kind.

Maybe death lives in our hearts? How when the commander said “fire”, death fed on thousands.
You will see me on the balcony of the earth weeping. Yes! I just cried for the thousands.
I am like an ant on an Indian street. Yes.

The old man says “son have no pride for even the proud sleep in a soiled duvet today”.

Is death ashamed when one’s not afraid of him? Or is he impressed with the depressed man that called on him? All we know is he still took him away. They say he who never talks about death is a coward, but death kissed both the coward and the supposedly hero anyway.

For what separates a killer by sword and a killer by word?
For we die and kill every day
What if you were told you were to die a day after your birthday? Imagine the emotion that would foster?
Think of the cancer patient living on the words of his doctor. “Get your affairs in order. You have approximately 3 to 6 months before your heart lays still”. How did Steve Jobs feel?

I think we should make peace with death, because it is just a reminder that we have one lifetime. A lifetime to pursue the most important goals, live the cherished moments with our loved ones, smile and laugh hard, make peace not war, create and not hate, clothe and not loathe so that when time comes to shake hands with death, it was money well spent
.
Never forget that whenever you walk through the shades of death, He who death fears watches over you. Just watch everything you do.

THE WAVE

The wave

The wave

hit by the wave
all hopes blown
the wave I loathe
it’s not our kind

I crossed the bridge halfway
the wave drew me back
the pain in my thoughts
a chain around me

I cry but I don’t
I bleed anger, I puke frustration
I am dead never to be buried
I wish to smell salvation

But the wave is not invincible
I am
I will burn the wave to eat the fruit so sweet
because I am

The wave will go
too soon, too soon
the wave should go
the wave shall go

The Cry

who among us is deaf not to hear the cry
of the unborn baby whose dream was shattered
that because he couldn’t see the sun
He knew his life no longer mattered

Who can understand the cry
of the man who at the airport awaited his wife to return
that because not even in her casket would he say good bye
He wails like thunder while his cheeks burn

The shepherd listens not to the cry of the sheep
but beckons them to sleep while he consumes their pasture
too much to sow and never to reap
the sheep know their master and never of rapture

I will cry by the night
but I smile when I see the sun
to have my tears wiped off by the light
that when the darkness mocks me, I know I am not done