I have been somewhat careless about the past. I have been thinking that one (read me alone) can manage to tuck it in somewhere that the present or the future can't get to. I recently buried a cousin and though his death isn't supposed to nag me this much, it is. I can't get over it or grieve about it.
Somehow, it still feels alienish and my soul is yet to digest his soul's departure.
This has dug up some unresolved emotions about youthful deaths. This anger towards the reaper for harvesting 'unripe' fruits. How could he? The man didn't even have a child and my Africanicity won't let such slip through my traditioned clenched fist.
The whys flow steadily from there and after what sometimes seems like hours of active zombie mode, I am left with zero answers. He may have been a bit careless with his health but he didn't deserve an early grave. Nor did his younger brother who passed on last year in May.
Or my favourite girl who didn't live long enough to see me procrastinate. Which I often do. Which sometimes makes me feel like I am wasting my life.
This life that I get to live yet so many young souls didn't or don't get to. A life that sometimes overplan for assuming that I will be here.
Death as much as it fascinates me and trust me it does, also leaves a stale taste in my mouth. The how trashy low lives make it to a hundred as good people die so young is still something I fight with every time I think about it. Yet the way it stretches it's cold touch to stop a warm blooded heart is still something for me to marvel over.
The complicated process of how one ceases to exist.
A certain reggae song says that one gotta treasure this one way journey called Life. That one ought to live to the fullest each day of their life and then summarizes the why in some powerful lyrics, 'you could be living this minute, the next you are gone away.'
Let's live in this minute...
All photos are mine... Taken with a Nokia phone. The first one is his marked grave. The second one is his younger brother's grave which is where I was standing while I took a photo of his marked one. They are separated by only two graves and that is a local cemetery. Yes, we don't give a damn about the dead hence the bushy look. The last one is my favourite cousin and a good friend beginning the work before other young men joined in.
Wambuku W.
