Skeletons

I am listening to voices in my head chiming “go,go,go!”
slowly like a morning chapel call.
My legs are already building up momentum,
my breath raspy,
the heart racing.

There are words said in between sighs
Spelled by moments of deep breaths and smiles.
These,
These are what I listen to
when I go quiet and pry into eyes.

There is a calmness in your voice
One that can almost settle down demons scampering in my soul.
But your eyes are talking of a yearning that is intangible by hand,
Of oceans one should dive into,
myriads of skeletons thumping through closets.

I have ghouls of my own,
Ones which I dress up some days and say the Grace with in the chamber of my heart.
But lately,
these meetings have become expensive and the bones are gaining flesh.
So I am leaving doors ajar for them to stroll back to the graveyard-
God knows I can’t stand them.

I am cleaning out my closets,
Maybe not for new ones but life is mysterious and I might find my heart running into new cemeteries.
I wish I could help you clean yours,
But look at these hands-
They are too blistered to start brushing through strangers learning their names by the touch of their joints.
So when I say all I can read from your eyes is “flee”
Try to understand that my back is too bent from digging graves and giving the soil back its humans,
That if I bend for yours as well,
I will crumble six feet deep.

Shiru Wa Wanjiku

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