Death beckons on us all at the climax of purposely arranged circumstances
Whiles Life sits idly by and mocks our struggle against fate
I have investigated by inquest hundreds of deaths not due to natural causes
Some sad. Some pitiful
Some occurring with a bang –
and some of them so pitiful, you can’t help but give in to laughter
I spend all my days hiding from the commotions of the living
I prefer to hang around the silent corpses and dead essences of once promising humans
The stories these lifeless bodies tell are so full of life, its poetry.
Yesterday, the body lying on my table told so good a story, I broke out in tears
The seeming delicacy had within its splitted hollows an artistically woven autobiography of a life lived in solitude, love and music.
The dimensions of her story branched out in colorful embers of vicious membranes laced with tunes from a flute of African descent
Others have told tales of heartbreaks and migraines and depression smothered by injustice and tribulation that the mind can’t begin to imagine
They told stories of young humans getting caught in a web of pointless affairs and insignificant hurts of yore.
They spoke of modern butterflies plagued with curses of ancient moths and whispers of the dead.
These lifeless storytellers all have their stories spiraling in an abyss of guilt, regret, torture, shame and a lot of unanswered questions; except my dearest Afreh
My favorite storyteller – Afreh nuamah – narrated her tale in acoustic tunes of contentment
She had a steady stream of happiness in her life story
This, she acquired through defying society and chasing after her own happiness
She sung tales of gigglish love affairs and tickling streams of pleasure ……
Dear voice seeking answers, you define your own storyline in your own handwriting
And even I, your coroner, cannot tell you your story
I can only read them within the splitted catacombs of your lifeless body.
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