Avik's Story

Oishikaa, Let me tell you a story. Many years ago, in ancient Nigeria, there lived a little brave girl named Komu, whose father was the best farmer ever. One day the evil Queen became ill and bad people blamed her father, as the Queen ate millet from his farm. The farmer was taken away as a prisoner, and Komu became sad. Days and months passed. Komu missed her father and one day she wiped her tears off and decided to rescue him. She sold everything she had and bought a horse. On her way to the palace, she passed a village, where crops were dead due to a terrifying disease and people were famished. But watching the hungry little girl, the villagers gave her their last food. When crossing the Niger River, watching the thirsty little girl, a blue fish gave her the last water drop of dried river. When she reached the bottom of the big mountain, on top of which evil Queen resided, a butterfly from a dead Obe tree gave her two wings before dying out of heat. Komu rode

she did it again this time with walk, once in a week sublime in rain what do you think of us? her voice coarse and i lost mine in alleys of my brain hang us in frame, that’s easy or, leave us in pain, amazing you see same flesh day after day your things rise, even we’re ten do we look slut when we walk or spread sex as you want do we resonate with powder and lipstick do we smile with full set of teeth WELL! we do and why should we care why should we care millionth time this decade bottom to top, leg to head you cringe you beg what do you think of us, she asked a miracle, i whispered, a charge

The last year was hard on me, as I watched death closely and her whiff reminded me of my childhood, which was mostly stuck at darkest corners of our dusty roof, and my friends, most of whom were imaginary and lived in mirror and walls, returned with demands of love. I know, they meant no harm, as I took countless adventures with them in a lonely floor or in a past-odoured closet and I saved their lives and they mine, but my heart pumped and breaths weighed just by mere sights of them and I knew I was in trouble. I am not a child anymore, at least not by looks or the decisions I have to make for survival. I don’t have liberty to replace the visions in my nightmares or strength to shut them down, rather I try to live with them and make in peace, and until I am married and fathered and have beautiful souls surrounding me, death was so enigmatic that I almost fell to her mystic ways. The magic to vanish a person forever seemed to be the best way of life one could get. And so when I