How Then What When Why We Was

Therewas Somewas Thenwas the Longpause

Then Everwhy Whyeverthen Whateverfor?

Whenhow Hownow Thathow so now

Anywhat Neverwhat Everwhat?

Somewhy Everwhy Funnywhy I cry

Anywhen Everwhen Wheneverwhen!

Howwhen Hownever Neverwhen Everwhen

Neverafter Foreverafter Thereverafter.

Ifthen Whatwas Whythen How was

Whywas What then?

How Then What When Why We Was

-by Rita Putatunda

like a sip of wine

like a sip of wine

glinting ruby red

I whisper your name

it is unfamiliar to my tongue

I let it roll around in my mouth

I feel the tang of exhilaration

that creeps into hidden folds and crevices

sometimes sweet sometimes a little bitter

I try to divine hidden flavours

that I have never known before

it tastes of the ripened sun

then it feels like a flower

slowly unfolding

exuding its frothy fumes

slippery smooth petal by petal

I roll it on my tongue

round and round it flows

on my tingling stinging singeing skin

it tastes of crushed fruit

which has felt the touch

of some effervescent earth

the caress of fermenting  breezes

blowing in some other sky

under some other moon

with a deep breath

I inhale -

I am light headed

intoxicated -

like a lick of slime

I lisper your name

-by Rita Putatunda

Thinking Of You

I will be reading

A book in my cane chair outside.

Quiet. Sometimes interrupting.

To watch the kites wheeling high.

Lazy. Round and round and round.

Endless circlings.

Spun. In a cloudless sky.

Reading a book perhaps

Of travel to some far off land.

Or perhaps a poem about forgotten love.

Suddenly. Your face will come

Crowding crowding crowding.

Speaking to me through the page

I’ve been reading from.

I will be writing

Composing lines in my cane chair outside.

Quiet. Sometimes stopping.

To listen to the pigeons talking.

Lazy. Mumbling mumbling mumbling.

Endless grumblings.

Above. Sitting on the ledge outstretched.

Composing lines without structure or plot

Or rhyme. Delving into stray thoughts.

Or perhaps a memory of something said.

Suddenly. Your face will come

Crowding crowding crowding.

Speaking to me from the page

I’ve been writing on.

-by Rita Putatunda

Summer’s Endings

The clouds were dark. The sky was heavy.
The distant thunder heralded summer’s endings.

With his soft hair streaming,
his walk a jaunty leap against the wind,
he came to her waiting in the empty road,
under the sool babool tree.

She looked at him with soft eyes,
and passed a light hand over his hair;
it had been a while;
she had missed him.

He gave her a quick kiss; but did not take her hand as he usually did,
as they walked side by side.

It was a long accustomed route they took.
The road narrowed to a path when it entered the brush forest;
their usual hideout from prying eyes.
They walked in deep. They walked in silence. She felt comfortable.

They reached the riverbed by which they usually sat.
The river had turned into a thin summer trickle in the silk-smooth sand.
She sat on the rotting log, as usual.
He seemed restless. He walked up to the ribbon of water,
and looked in the distance, as if searching for something.

It was getting dark. The rain was imminent.

“So?” she said.

“What... Oh..” He replied absently. He turned and came and sat beside her.

The log was old and broad. Soft moss made it almost downy.
He lay down and put his head on her lap. Like he always did.

“This is bliss,” he said, breathing her in. She smelled of the old moss, log wood,
and the citrus scent she always used.

She wrapped him in her arms. The kiss was long,
as if it had to last for all time.

“This is bliss,” he muttered again in her breast.

She caressed his hair.
The wind picked up. The trees rustled.
The trickle of water rippled restlessly.
Soon it would be a gushing torrent.

“So?” She asked again, after a while.

“It’s no, you know,” he replied in a rush.

She was still. He was still wrapped in her arms.
In the distance the dark Thunder God erupted.
It began to rain.

-by Rita Putatunda

When it is my turn

This is what I feel now, but then, I don’t know what my state of mind will be when I really do face the prospect. It’s easy to spout brave words from the safety of your life stretching in front of you.

When it is my time

To take leave

Of this abode of mine

Life, do not hold me back

Turn off the lights gently

Let me steal away

Imperceptibly

Do not hold me back

Either with tears

Life saving medicines

Life maintaining machines

Or under sense terminating

 Anesthesia

Not for me the tracheal tube

That robs me of my human speech

Not for me the forced

Oxygenation of lungs

That no longer want to breathe

No, not for me the marvels

Of state-of-the-art medical science

That hooks me by tubes

That feed me juice

To keep me alive

Beyond my allotted time

And more tubes

Oozing  with

My body fluids

Blood red, jaundiced yellow

For everyone to see

And strap me to monitors

That display every twitch of

My fragilities

Not for me the confinements

That break my spirit

And turn me into

A shadow of myself

I no longer recognize

Not for me the chemicals

That leave me weak

As I’ve never known me

To be

Not for me the blood thinners

The chest de-congesters

Or the electromechanical devices

To kick-start my faculties

That want to cease

Not for me the hospital bed

Where I’m bereft

Of every shred of human dignity

Nor for me the administrations

Of doctors, although skilful

Who hack my carcass apart

To put new life back

Into a body that wants to depart

When it is my turn

Give me the strength

To say  –

Life – Set me free for I did not ask to be 

Life – Let go of me for I no longer want to be

Life – I am free for I do not ask to be

-by Rita Putatunda