A Song of Water and Fire

Between her legs, she was patchouli: earthy and musky smell,           sweet yet smoky, a balance of sweetness and romance—           and for the rest of the night, I tasted her tanginess.

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When I first met him, he was a wanderer, gypsy
          his eyes thirsty
          and his body fire—

Image by Freepik

When I first saw her, she was a wonder, water
          to put out fire.

Photo by Ric Rodrigues from Pexels.com

The fountain between my legs dripped, gushy
          from the same spot of a leaking roof.

Photo by John Rocha from Pexels.com

Fire burnt from the pit of my stomach, hot coals
          and I knew I had a home.

You will never wander anymore, Gypsy, I told him.

Between her legs, she was patchouli: earthy and musky smell,
          sweet yet smoky, a balance of sweetness and romance—
          and for the rest of the night, I tasted her tanginess.

Keep it that way, I told him and put out the fire.

Image by 0fjd125gk87 from Pixabay

The Terrorist’s Virgins

Abubakar Ali Wafula became a terrorist because the sheikh said he would get an eternal supply of virgins if, and when, he died for Allah. His cousin, Zephaniah Wamalwa, had

Imara Angani

The crew room at Laikipia Air Base was a flurry of activity and a cacophony of telephones ringing off the hook. Fighter pilot Major Ahmednasir Ramah sweated copiously inside his flight suit as he waited anxiously beside the telephone, glancing every few seconds at the crew-room clock.

Deep in his bones, he felt that either this mission would pass as a blip in his military career or it would be his last. Ramah held the telephone handset tight, raised it to his ear, and listened.

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