Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be, for my unconquerable soul.
The rain drips down my face and I walk down Melancholy lane, it has been a while since I was down this lane. I feel every drop hit my cold face like tiny pins, my jaws clench tight and my teeth grind tighter. A cold shiver traces where a lone drop snakes from my neck and soaks my shirt. Goosebumps on my skin make my back jerk involuntarily. One foot in front of the other, my wet shoes make a dull sound on the wet pavement. I step on a puddle and two separate sheets of water are sprayed on my pants. No matter, it is wet already. No salvage there, just like many things in my life.
My jacket is already wet as it is, I let the rain tap my back incessantly; ignoring it like you would a stranger tapping your back for spare change. I peer through wet heavily laden eyelashes, no one in the street except me. My kind of misery does not like company. I would brave the rain, cold and come sleet or hailstorm tonight, I would stare it in the face and spread my arms out, give me your best shot. I would growl and bark back to the thunder until it cowers from the ferocity of my pain and lightning would recoil from my piercing gaze. Nothing was going to get me down tonight, this sleeping giant was awake.
In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud
Under the bludgeonings of chance, my head is bloody, but unbowed.
They say lightning does not strike the same place twice. Per my count, it was six times now. I would want to sit down with those theorists. Every bolt jolted debris of my very being to the sky, scorching where it left a deep hole, each time digging digger than the last. It was getting closer to my core, I could feel it, the cold breeze was getting colder by the minute with each cut deeper than the last. I wipe my face with the back of my hand. I am getting numb, rigor mortis of the soul.
I, like God, do not play dice and does not believe in coincidence. What was the meaning of all this? I am confused. Nothing makes sense, everything that was good became bad. The trees I took shelter for shade in all wilted. The sun was now burning my scalp, like a thumb pressing against a tack on a cardboard. I did not wince or show it, but it ate me from the inside. Why me? Why now? I was like a dog being kicked while I was down; every street was a cul de sac, a dead end. Circumstance and chance with their heavy boots and heavy batons rained down on me. My head was bloody but my eyes saw through the blood and my canines were being bared, my growl getting louder as my yelps decreased … I would survive this.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears, Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years, Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
A whistle jolts me from my wild conjectures. A lady of the night looks sympathetically at me braving the rain. Under the street light, her black umbrella reflects the sodium yellow light my way. I pause momentarily and consider going over to where she is. She seems kind, but I am bubbling with unkindness. She smiles, I growl. She shows me mercy, I am afraid I do not deserve mercy. My heart is thawed momentarily, who am I becoming?
I force a smile, I walk on. I reflect on the kindness of a stranger. How was it she was being nice to me? Anyone walking in the rain without looking for shelter is not a good person. I shrug her off my mind. The rain raps on my head and jacket harder, the cold is seeping in. I shiver and sneeze. I taste the rain, it has an iron taste like blood. Hail stones rain down on me, I smile. Challenge accepted by nature, I spread my arms and look up, let it hit my face. Nothing can possibly be worse than everything in my life right now. I wince and close my eyes … something snaps. Tears flow freely. Crazy man in the middle of the road at night, arms spread out facing up to the darkness. Unafraid, brave, hopeful, crying, hurt, despairing, optimistic, holding on.
It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.
I feel lights on me before I hear the hooting. I jump back to the pavement. I am wide awake. The guy who walks around town selling eggs and mugs of coffee looks at me like someone with a death wish. I have no such wish, I love life. I walk past him and straight down towards my bus stage. Hit me with your best shot, I will be here chance. I dare you to raise your boot again circumstance. I will roll with the blows, I will take them in stride. I will limp but the limp will heal and my gait will once more be as it was.
One more person remains to fill the matatu home. I smell alcohol, wet hair, smelly shoes amidst the smell of fries and chicken. I don’t look around, I get my seat and sink in. I close my eyes briefly and wipe my face. My fingers are cold, I can barely feel any of my limbs. I feel my heart beating loudly, ferociously, threatening to jump out from my rib cage. Inhale. Exhale. I look outside, it stops raining. It always does. I am master of my fate, I am captain of my soul.
NB: Words in Italics are a poem by William Ernest Henley (1849-1903) “Invictus”
donmu2ua 