Man’s fate would lay engrossed in merging an impressive work of art called ‘DESTINY’. The road would comprise thorns the size of pumpkins. Alongside pumpkins, the texture of fine linen. I wondered how the two fit.
The work of crocheting this destiny was stolen from its founder, the man seated on the golden seat! He gnawed and wailed but the world was too busy turning to loud-sounding, moral-defying parties where sorrows could be flushed down with concentrated alcohols, adultery or recklessness. I was there too! We chose to turn our backs on the succor coming from harmonizing the sensual rhythm of the heartbeat with thoughts. Thoughts that could be poured into writing.
My hands now tremble with deep understanding of the word ‘betrayal’. I toss and turn at the sound of his distant gnaws. Cover my ears when I have to!
Soon fed up, I finally seized fate from man’s hand, gave it to the man seated on the gold seat and while he now does the perfect work of crocheting our destiny with pumpkins and leaves, I write!