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The road is not to be smooth

I am writing this while listening to Peter Mawanga's Meditation song. I am busy thinking; but about writing.

 These days, I hardly write serious things: short stories, essays, features and such. Even Facebook status updates.
These days, it is as if I have hit a dead end. I get an idea, beam at the prospect of writing it but once I sit to write it, I slump into confusion. I most likely abandon that project or, if not, the end result hardly makes me proud.


My friends tell me how much they write per day and I can only envy them. For me, even writing a proper text message seems a tall order.


Even now, as I have no energy with which to respond to WhatsApp texts, I have logged off. Pretending to be asleep. But sleeping I am not. Instead, I am here. Thinking.


I am thinking about my situation. Wondering how that little boy who would write a story, an essay, in a day metamorphosed into this grumpy unfocused me…when did that even happen?


As I am thinking, Mawanga and his Amaravi moment sing:
Pomwe walingapo, a Maravi anafikapo
(where you are, we once were there)


They are not talking to me. But, they are also talking to me.


I like the simplicity of this song. I like the emphasis it places on the instruments, the de-emphasising it does on the words. The words are few. The beat is everywhere.


In this moment, it talks to me. Here I am, once there was this team of talented people that is Peter Mawanga and the Amaravi.


It is as if, here, on the road to Golgotha where the thirst of the muse leaves, the Amaravi also passed through.

Somehow, I connect. Somehow, you can connect too if you are on your rough path to Golgotha. The Golgotha of whatever that bothers you. 

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