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THE MYSTERY

Happy new year to my fellow readers community. 

Cheers to the new year and the bundle of joy packaged for the year. Enjoy this beautiful piece as we look forward from all the disappointments associated with the previous year.










THE MYSTERY

PART 1

 THE MYSTERY
Once upon a time,
There lived a man on the hill
I was told, ‘He is a black man, he could make you sick,
He has no treatment or cure for his disease’
But then, I’ll never know
Who was a black man or if a man can be black
For he was as fair as the rising sun and his hair was like fire from coals
He definitely looked like my brother from this side over the seas, but maybe the curls on his hair betrays the look.
So, I approached him,
Having worn my mask and gloves, determined not to get sick.
Alias, we met and spoke at length, a social distance away from each other
He was delighted and offered a sumptuous meal of something in rolls and soup filled with meat.
I ate.
Something tickled, I let it out with a sneeze.
Next morning, Blackman woke up sick
I realized, he could make me sick
I ran for my dear life,
Crossing the seas and watched from afar to see him die
He never did get up for hours so I became weary and left.


Part 2

I was down with the flu
I cursed black man under my breath. He really did make me sick.
I sought the history of the flu from the doctor
He said it showed up a particular day and just began manifestation. I may never survive
I made a calculation and realised the flu came 2 days before I saw Black man
Alias, I gave Black man the flu.
I pleaded to see the hill over the seas before I depart the world.
I looked over to Black man’s hill
He seemed perfectly healthy, making pottery
I was disappointed at the confused world.
I gave black man a flu
He didn’t die 
Now I’m about to make an eternal journey
I never even cared to remember Black man’s name, but hey,
I remember the prophecy,
Black man dying in zillions
On the street spread in pack of billions
But here I am dying from my own disease
Indeed I must have been deceived
How do I solve this mystery?
And tell men about this misery?
I was about to whisper
The last breath came
With this I write…


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New stories will be made every Friday of the week. You can also suggest stories or contribute to the writings with your own creativity.

Signed: Jazzmine


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