forbidden folklore

Why are your hands so cold? Your hands that made my cold hands warm, who will warm your hands now. Where has the life drained to from your soft beautiful cheeks? What is this haziness I see cast over your eyes? Where has the sharpness that pierced my heart from your eyes wandered to? Breathe again, so I can breathe, lift my darkness with the light from your warmth, make me feel alive again with the fire from your eyes. For you have loved me in the light of day and now I must love you in the darkness of eternity.

Husband snatcher  A story.  The bus arrived two hours early, at four in the morning. He knew they had  reached their destination when the conductor, sleepy eyed and grumpy,  switched on the lights and paced up and down banging on the tin roof of the  big, aging bus. Nobody protested, the passengers dutifully got up and  started assembling their luggage. In twenty minutes, he too was in a fast  moving que filing out of the bus. It hd been a long, bumpy ride, a painful  journey, yet not an unfamiliar one. Uncaring to the other Kenyan  passengers, this particular young, tall, skinny man-with blue-black bruises  all over his face, aches and pains all over his body- had been travelling  most of his short life.  As he clutched his nice leather carry-on bag, which were all of his  belongings, he knew this was the last time he was running. His life as a  traveler was over, it decided and affirmed. Wanzu island was to be his last  and final destination. there, he knew, life would be differen

I can tell that you're fighting, you're at war with yourself. Set yourself free... I can see that you're struggling, I know you're restraining your desires, you're having trouble stifling your quench. Set yourself free... The depths of your guarded soul mask an overwhelming wanting. It is hard to fight it I know, but you are trying. Set yourself free... Set your self free, you cannot hide from the yearning of your eager heart. Give yourself to me and you shall be free...

It was the way he walked, the way his strong masculine legs moved with every stride. It was the walk of a strong, robust distinguished man. It was sexy and appealing. He has watched him walk in that wet, gloomy evening, and even beneath that stylish fitting overcoat, he had seen that walk, he had watched those legs move, slowly, parted at the thigh with a slight spring in the sole. He was still a stranger then, tall, dark and strikingly handsome. His dark eyes piercing to the soul, his face chiselled, his perfect teeth brilliantly white as he spoke softly on the cellular phone. He was one of those men you ached and desired for yet you knew he simply was out of your reach. So it came as a surprise at first when, in the first few minutes be took a keen interest on his secret admirer. And when he moved close to speak to him, his cologne filled up his nostrils, he was a clean well groomed man, whose scent left one longing for more conversation, more touching, that first night, he coul

A poem by Jeffrey Musa And so here I stand; my ear full of noises, Noises of my beating heart beat, a heart strong and warm and true, When shall my heart start beating, when will my heart know love? Love is the elixir that injects life into the soul of my heart beat, And so here I stand; my ear full of noises, Noises of my beating heart beat, a heart longing to be consumed by love again