This feeling makes me feel bold Makes me feel special, like two teaspoons of gold Makes me feel wanted, like a jewel a-hold Makes me feel yearned for, in its slavery I’d gladly be sold This feeling makes me want to fly Takes my breath away and makes me sigh Never knew anything, in beauty, …
When a pianist loses his keys, A designer, her sketch pencils, An addict, his fix Or an add alcoholic his brew. When music looses tune, Or a carpenter his wood. When coal turns white, And the Dead Sea comes alive. When the skies and the land kiss, And scarlet turns blonde, When summers turn cold, …
The unburnt is the identity of my Law class at Riara Law School.
We are comprised of loud, opinionated, diverse, sassy human beings who’s age varies from approaching 30 to barely-in-my-20s.
The Chronicles of the Unburnt are random stories on the crazy that is my class.
I am seated in class.
I cannot tell you for the life of me, what’s going on. I have moved from listening to the petty man’s (from now on his name is PM) monotone to wondering why he became a lecturer and why I need to listen to the history of the Law of Insolvency. I first docked at, what-is-this-man-wearing land. I examined this human while subconsciously comparing him to you wondering what beguiled him into dressing in such a -for lack of a better word- wayward manner. Forgive me, I do not mean to say PM was dressed badly, he was just dressed normally. The kind of normal that captivates nobody, fits the minimum requirements of formality and really is nothing to write home about…
I digress, I seem to have grown a liking for well fitting threads, the kind that give the sense that the man picked the clothes, deliberately on purpose. Either my taste is maturing – but then again I have always been somewhat refined in taste- or you really have spoilt me wit all your savvy, well threaded somewhat debonair way of dressing.
Then I went to criticising this man’s monotone. My word… He totally could not carry anyone with that one tone that really started and ended nowhere. Just there flat, a little like ____________ . That lil’ flat line was just that… a gap. Nothing there. Just bleh!
You on the other hand are polished. And no, I do not mean you speak English like an Englishman God no! You’re an African man, you speak in the tongue of the continent before you speak in imposed speech. But Darling, when you open your mouth, you carry the whole darn room with you. The way you inculcate passion and zeal into your speech. sigh!
This reminds me of how I felt when I had my first crush. I always got this warm fuzzyness that emanated from my chest and gushed unbridled to the rest of my existence with a lingering dumbfounded sheepish smile that would literally tag at my heart’s string. Then there were this butterflies that really were full blown and flapping, almost jumping up and down in my entire body cavity. It felt like that song,”Phakade” by south African songstress Lira….👇🏾.
It’s official good people, I think I may be suffering from a classic case of A CRUSH. It happens to the best of us. I kinda go a lil cuckoo when he’s around. I kinda can’t multitask when he’s involved, even in my thoughts.
Oh! When the hugs me, Oh when he hugs me, all faculties stop working, the whiff of his cologne and the warmth of his arms is so surreal, I am sure he’s one of those mystic creatures. And his laughter, his laughter can breathe life into any dull moment and his sense of humour and wit can keep you hooked on his lips listening to the smooth solid pitch of his utterly sexy voice.
This man is literally heaven on earth….
It’s official, i have a serious crush on his man
… Gets back to listening to PM lecture on something…eeeh.. petty.