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69 days: Living On Borrowed Time. (S. S.)

Prose and Poetry

69 days: Living On Borrowed Time. (S. S.)

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Under the collapsing building,
Beneath the blocks,
With orange steel rod poking out my chest,
The deafness startles me
Ablaze yet calm,
The fire danced in ecstasy,

Death is not who you think he is,
He's not covered in a 6ft black garment
Death is not a man,
Neither is death a woman,
Death, as furry as a teddy bear
with longer arms and legs,
Blazing like a rod left in the fierce arms of fire,
Death burns in red and orange,
I refuse to go.

Death chased me, 
Through the smoke,
The steel rod in my ribs burns hotter by the second,
Is life worth running back to?
If the men in black don't pull the trigger,
The clowns in green will pull the necessities,
I watched death devour burning souls,
Death didn't scare me,
I knew it wasn't time,
This fight doesn't end,
Death knows not natural or impromptu.

My feet hurts,
The smell of burning skin
engulfs my nostrils,
I have come full circle,
Back to the room my body lay,
The sound that sent people to 
the soft colon of death was as loud as the trumpet;
With notes of weak infrastructure and fat clowns,
I was there, I was here,
Where's water when you need it?
The red tanks are empty for the right things.

Have you seen yourself?
Not in the mirror,
An exact replica laying before you,
Peace or hurt,
Blood pumped its way out,
No wonder death is still chasing,
Death knows its inevitable.

I stopped for death,
Not to crawl into its soft, hot hands,
A bargain to strike, 
More time; 80 days,
Death smiled and said 
'70 days and I come for you.'

24 hours later,
Warmth embraced my heart 
My friends smile as cheers ring loudly,
Living on borrowed time- 70 days,
They say 'Death stops for no one'
I stopped for death and death paused for me,
69 days to go,
A countdown to death,
Kiss my feet as I bid thee goodbye,
Borrowed time lasts not forever.

My lover has no clue,
neither do my friends and family,
I leave them like this,
For death is not the ugly dark soul eater,
To be consumed out of existence,
Reality blurs,
Alive or not,
When did you meet one who death paused for,
Put that in our-story
And weep not for we all had extra time,
Today, tomorrow or next,
The teddy embraces all,
S.S.

 

 

 

 

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Written by: Mariam Alayande

Photo: MGG STUDIO

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Mariam Alayande

Mariam Alayande is a writer and poet. She started writing at the age of 9. Some of her articles have been published in a couple of magazines and books and is increasingly gaining more recognition.

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