The dew falls, masking the tangy smell of the moldy dust. The forest shrugs in mock disgust. The rain has not fallen for eons, but the dew religiously makes its rounds, parching the dry leaves for a spell, bringing relief.

Decisions have been made, and the past has cushioned the future, however uncertain.  The present has a poker face, the sun casting it in varied shades of gold, green, dirty browns, and some days dark bleak nights.

Every new day carries the present, the past now becoming a nagging reminder of thorn bushes, illusions and delusions, and blind alleys groping in the dark for room to make their stand.

Trailed by endless shots of adrenaline, uncertainty a constant reminder of turns chosen wrong. By all means take it away. Banging one’s head against boards and walls has its rewards if you could call them that.

Today, slivers of light pierce the dark, itching to etch their passage trails, dark or bright still to be debated.

No snow, this is Africa, but the chill bites hard, eliciting tears of frustration, the warm folds in the dark cardigan no comfort. The shards of ice protruding the chest are reminiscent of daily rounds of instability.

The clank of chains echoes through blind alleys. You’ve made your mark: just doesn’t run as deep as  you want it to.

Grinding and gnashing your teeth will not work either, but may be making the right decision may be something you’re not ready for but have to do.