Apple tree love

Watu watatu walikwenda, watu watatu walikwenda mji wa Mombasa, kucheza chakacha kwa harusi…..

Am growing old. That is the song I am listening to as I type. It’s a great song; it only depicts old age when you actually start nodding to it and singing along. I am enjoying an old ballad.  Two decades older than me probably. Aging!!

I look at you sleep and I see me, I am always angry in my sleep. Maybe because I cannot eliminate poverty at that time. I see you getting mad at this lazy mandatory daily human phase. Your big eyes, a window to a happy soul. It’s a pity, you will one day have to squeeze them to shed a tear for a ruthless woman you will fall in love with. Vanity!! I will whip they that make you weep. But such is life, for you will keep and secretly hope you are a first.

We are not allowed to choose whom we will be. If I would, I would be you. There will never be a curvier smile on any man’s face. Your ears, prayers do get answered. This one was a big yes. I add Amen to it with every little kiss. But. A moment I take to think, I would not have done you justice. I would never have such confidence. Bravity you define. That task, I doubt I would accomplish as good as you.

If I would sit under an apple tree to listen to them fall and waste their beauty, sweetness and all the life in them. I would be these smiling. For I did well. I would imagine your tree, blossoming, burdening itself with fruit and being the envy of the forest. For that is what I will make you. An envy. A desire, a definition of selves. One apple Id pick and pose for a photo as I bite and stare into the far horizons. Then smile, wave in the air and kiss it. The earth too, thank it for bearing us, all of us. Being a mother to many and not giving in to the pressures as we pleasured on its nakedness.  IL savor life to its last bits. It’s meaningful. You are the meaning, son!!