crush – lol

he stood up to preach yesterday. before he shares the word, he decides to sing a song. he does, then shares. at the end he sings another, his arrives late for his first class and one of his female students tells him about her reaction while he was singing. “i cried sir. they even laughed at me”. he smiles and fixes his sunglasses. with a short blush he looks away. she continues to speak, “i was so touched, especially by the last song. eish!” 

he is looking at her. she says all these with intense enthusiasm. a few seconds later she asks his him a question that almost makes him weak on the knees.

   “sir, if i was your age, would you marry me?”

   -of course, yes-

   she shows off all he dimples, a smile that lets her eyes squint with affection. a few moments later, “sir, are you serious you would marry me?” 

-yes, i am. i am never going to forget this question. i am actually going to put it up in my blog later-
she laughs. “sir, can you please smile?” he denies. “sir, do you have dimples?” he denies.

-i am 9 years older than you. call me when you are 18 and check if i am still single-

“i am gonna bewitch you so that you stay single until i am old enough to marry you”

           they both laugh.

“i am gonna open a blog and write that i have a crush on my french teacher”

he always knew about it. he was just waiting for her openly say it.
the whole class giggles. -oh, look at that, it’s time up. time for you to leave. 

ntseme 2017




bella bell’s

for over two years they have liked one another. on his first attempt she said she was too young for anything, so he gave her space. in that space, time and temptation took their toll. he sees other people and she does too. it almost seems like they are forgetting why they are not together. he gets in contact with her, they chat everyday, they remind themselves of where they used to be and where they could be , had they gave each other a chance. their feelings come to life. they push and pull and do all kinds of things that cause tornados and hurricanes of endless strains of emotions. they spend time together but it all seems useless, yet rich. useless cause they cannot be together for there is another. rich cause every moment is like the setting and rising of the sun – magical. the past couple of days have been truly heart opening for them. moments of unchanging memories. moments of truth yet, they cannot be together. to gather themselves in thoughts of never ending torture. it sucks.

-i really hate our relationship. it’s torturing-

with a sad face, one that he has never seen on her : “yeah”

ntseme 2017

one year away – xxii

he sees her,
his heart skips mini beat..

he has not seen or had a word with her in a very long time.

a long time for both of them.

where daily regular convos are deprived, a week of silence feels like a year in a deserted island.

he wants to grand her and…

hug her and…

but he won’t.

not that he cannot.

he shouldn’t. 

it’s against the rules.



ntseme 2017

unique stranger – ii

he saw her yesterday.

she stood in a grey dress/skirt in what seemed like an exchange of contacts with an opposite sex being.

today as he leaves work he has her in his thoughts. a rehearsal of a perfect conversation of when and if he meets her today (hopefully).

he thinks of taking a different root that previously lead to him meeting her. he just thinks that he will probably meet her again today and execute his plan. a plan so perfect that it even accommodates a bit of a stammer, if somehow her beauty chokes him.

suddenly, he decides to change and take his usual route that will let him go through rail park mall.

on his combi ride,he is reading a collection of short stories. he arrives at the mall, dusts his shoe touched pants and goes through the mall. upstairs he goes, in his usual wild thoughts, to cross the rail bridge.

his eyes are all over the place, looking at all these people and wondering what they might be having in their small minds.

momentarily,his eyes are met by a yawning stranger in black jeans and a black top. it seems like in their “one to one” encounters she always has the need for sleep.

see, he has never seen her that close enough to know her height and body type but he is sure it’s her. his heart stops beating for a split second, causing his whole body to fall into a mode of steadiness and slow walk. his throat gets dry. he chokes of her beauty. he swallows a seemingly dry lump of saliva. it is almost like a vapor of saliva.

his rehearsed conversation pops in his mind. the stranger is now about 6 meters away from him and she is not stopping for nothing. he is looking back and thinking about whether to go back to her and commence the perfect convo or not. at this time him and her are m├Ętres apart. he keeps on walking with his pounding heart, beating himself up for not having the courage to take action. since when has he had no courage??

*are you rumbidzai? well, umm, uuuh. i have something i would like for you to read please. it will only take about a minute. i promise. it’s about you*

ntseme 2017



death orientation

it takes the whole day for the universe to prepare one’s emotions for anything.

acting is the ability to be someone else other than yourself–if not using who you are to give life to other characters, he thinks. it’s this thought that makes him well aware that he’s acting as he goes throughout the day. he zones out often–psychology dictates that this act is because one does not want to live in their current reality. maybe he doesn’t want to, he thinks. he really would rather be alone. he laughs an internal laughter remembering the quote “he who likes/prefers silence is either a god or a beats.” an unruly restlessness somewhere in the pocket of his soul is willing to prove he is beastly and Aristotle might question his being a god but the sympathy and empathy and all other emotions in this spectrum of his feelings assure him maybe in him, somewhere, he might be a god. how else would he be arrested mentally and physically by having to talk about sexual abuse-during the early hours of morning even. the gentleness of the budding hours map into the soft bud of private parts being discussed and the harsh toned views expressed by his colleague and the act of sexual abuse itself morph into some beast ruining his entire morning all together. thankfully he has a nice meal during lunch. he enjoys it. he knows, now, only a few of these things can rise above the wave of impending doom he feels and his lunch proved to be one of those. the rest of the day is pocketed into absences, vacuums, black holes and zone outs throughout the quotidian of life and day.


it’s early evening, he is sitting amongst other actors and actresses to prepare for a reading of a play his friend wrote. anything to help out a friend, he thinks. after all, friendship is about giving. and they say it’s not what’s been given that matters but the heart that gives it. it’s the latter thought that makes him take up another script to be edited, from another friend though he really does not want to. to this grey buffet of emotions, guilt is also served and he has some.

there’s a theory that life and living are spiral. in this theory it’s believed there is no beginning nor end-that we all return to one point we’ve gone past a number of times in order to learn again whatever it is we’ve learnt before.he has accepted that he lives in impending doom but this day wants to prove him right. what’s that they say? life is how you think it? anyway, the drag of the morning, returns. this particular day is spiraling, he thinks as he skims over the script. it’s as if he’s reliving the conversation he had with his colleague earlier in the morning. the feeling returns as well-sits and takes off its shoes to make itself comfortable. he scoots over a little on his chair then pushes the chair forward to align himself in the circle he’s seated at. his character is that of an abuser. this abuser coerces a pregnant teenage prostitute. he hoodwinks this jail bait into marrying him only to abuse her and later molest the daughter she’s pregnant with at the beginning of the play. his chest tightens and there are frost bites in his throat. every actor removes themselves from the character, he reminds himself. the reading proceeds.

the second script spirals. he is, at this point, dizzy. his character is that of a step father who rapes his step-daughter. how grim, he thinks. in this play he impregnates his wife and his daughter but he has the decency to spare a month in between these acts. before he can wrap his head around the whole script it’s his turn to read. he finds out, as the play progresses that he commits suicide. potent, he thinks yet again. but still, he loves acting. the latter thought, pizza and soda after the readings cheer him up and he’s sunshine happy.


life will always preamp you, he thinks as he stares at the text message he has just received. he is now at home with a friend whom he’d been laughing with minutes before. said friend feels, like an oarfish, the earth plates shift in his friend’s mood and asks what’s wrong. in this pause, the oarfish swims to shore.

“my cousin committed suicide today.”

silence. earthquake. tsunami. the life of his cousin flashes before his eyes. he begins to wish, to wonder, to question, to doubt and to hurt all at the same time. he wants to feel the pain. he wants to crouch to his knees or maybe pace about… anything to show he has just received grave news. nothing comes. some lessons, no matter how many times they spiral past, we learn,with brilliance, how to master them. but his lack of hurt is not brilliance, in fact it’s a nuance. people are not the same and they don’t mean the same to us and he should shrivel in pain but life has banged him hard earlier in the year so much so almost everything is a numb, including this. what hurts him though is the fact that he’s texting the sister to his cousin who has committed suicide. he can’t decide if her emojis are a lack of knowledge or bravado. he can’t tell her, he’s been asked by his current company not to. and if he could what exactly would he say? it’s not the most pleasant conversation to have, he knows this from experience. but it hurts him a thousand mine trucks on his chest, if he could feel it. or maybe his disbelief over his cousin’s commuting suicide is what keeps him from telling her. or maybe he realizes the fragility of the bud of ignorance she’s in-something he wishes for himself and therefore cannot take away from anyone else, not even if his life depends on it. to do so, to force himself and his words into her innocence like that would be beastly-a rape of some sort and he’s no beast.

ntseme 2017


23:23 -01:01

the whippee

her mind is all over.

her eyes are fixed.

she swallows an empty lump,

the kind during fear

– i am gonna f*** you up when we get home –

her morning is sour in its darkness.

what’s going on in her mind?

is she thinking about how she is gonna take the whip?

i am looking into the face of a little girl who is going to get whipped for going through her mother’s bag and not putting back an important work ^thing^

ntseme 2017




the good in goodbye would have to be her scent on his sweater, particularly on his shoulders and across his chest. talking of chests–their last hug is different from the rest. it is a little longer than their friendship permits-more than it has permitted before. it is as though there is a transfer of energy, of intention, of something… like listening to a song you have listened to umpteenth times and hearing a vague cymbal shake that you didn’t hear before.

“i will be there at 0545 hours”

– aaah! are you for real?-

“have i ever disappointed?”

as he lets go, tears begin to well up in his eyes. he walks over to his ride and hears a small, sad, lonely, needing, missing voice:


he looks back and says the same with a smoothness of snow landing on the mountain on his throat. riding out of the premises he thinks about the last two months. they have only known each other for that long. yet, their connection is like tree roots centuries deep. it is rare, especially for him. he fails to understand how they instantaneously became friends.

as he drives away John Legend’s bridge over troubled waters begins to play in his mind. he sings along,mentally. he’s going to miss her, he thinks. he’s going to miss particular moments that the mind chooses to make unforgetable like the smell of nature in her car. he thinks about the 6 hour road trip they took, along with their friends, to the house. there, the stars shine brighter, each animal’s onomatopoeia is distinct, the wind blows smoother and the air smells cleaner and feels as light as a tickle from a feather.

in muse, he recalls the evening games, the food, the music and the intoxicating mood of it all.

he returns to earth, to the drive but only to turn his head to catch her scent on the shoulders of the sweater he’s wearing. her scent lingers as if continuing something, something beyond friendship, something beyond goodbye, something beyond… he knows memory is linked to scent. so her scent brings memories of her never ending shopping sprees for, particularly, sweets. he wonders if that’s what makes her so sweet. how corny, he thinks with a smile on his face.

she is leaving now. for two years to be exact. he’s familiar with origami- this has to be it. these folds formed by curiosity, by longing, by anticipation of the future are shaping him in ways he hadn’t imagined before, into what he has never imagined before. they do say pain, even if imagined before, will not come as exact as when it was imagined or anticipated. anyway, he wants to see her next year for her graduation but wonders if it is going to be possible. it would really make her happy. or maybe it will make him happy to smell that familiar odor, to have her fold into his arms in that all too familiar hug that births a series of unending somethings, to end the longing of a year or two of impatiently waiting, to taste, yet again, the sweet good in goodbye.

ntseme 2017



edited by wame gwafila

one year away – xxi

he is a sucker for odours.
he wants to know everyone of her odours.
from her cologne to her hair food.
from her breathe to her shoe smell.
yes, a moment ago he smelled her shoe. lol.
she has had it for 2 years and it still looks and smells new.
it has a minor odour of wood.
a new odour has been added to his odour memory.
-yah, i know. i said odour a lot. odour odour odour. –

ntseme 2017

one year away – xx

she smiles so well.
her bliss feel is contagious.
he sees her crossing the road.
the walk, the sway, the unique dimples on the sides of her lips as she smiles and looks away.
he does not long to see her, but when he does, he knows that that's what he longed for.
he glances at her with every moment he gets.
one year away. he can wait.
his patience will not betray him.

ntseme 2017

one year away – xix

one year away – xix

he sees her after 10 days
he wants to hug her, squeeze her, pick her up and kiss her.
her braces are off.
her hair is shorter.
she is beautiful. more beautiful.
he has been silent about her for sometime
hoping she will get off his mind.
no, she is still on his mind.
he wants to run away with her right now
but he can't. not that he cannot.
he must not.
that's the rule.

ntseme 2017