I remember very sweet times. They were days and years of untellable beauty. Back then, when I went up and about attending to my mom's orders-- yet gladly so-- days when my smiles were honest, and mischief never yet abode in my heart, and my mind hadn't tempted me to rebellion. Days of innocence. Days warmed by genuine love and filial care. Days for which I would pay all, sacrifice all to bring back, and count not the cost!

My recollection of those episodes of life does so much in casting scorn on this attempted description. When I say untellable, I mean untellable. I now depart from that ancient frame.

But I take with me something that I deem fit to serve my purposes in treating the subject aforementioned.

My mom once told me that I mustn't be careless when preparing tea. She delved with so much passion into re-shaping my perspective on what exactly making good tea was. To me, cooking tea was nothing more than adding milk to water, and that if one remembered to add tea leaves and the right amount of sugar, then good tea was ready. Nice and easy! But on sensing this base concept, she rushed in with all sublime lessons this cruel world had taught her for 35 years she had lived at the time. She told me that cooking tea is not akin to taking an evening walk any more than baking an angelic bread was. "It is an art," she said, "grace every effort with known and well intended purposes." She proceeded to educate me on the how's, when's, where's and why's this done. "You don't just boil water for the sake.... You want to be exact in your measurements...." and so on and so forth, and thus was the lesson conveyed.

So, my literary friend, when we talk about art, good written art, say literature masterpiece, do you pause for a moment to figure out the how's, when's, where's, and the why's of your occupation? A basic inspection of these inquiries will serve us all in a very real sense. Please understand that art is like cooking. An audience should find something for their hungry minds in your compositions.

I remember the look in her face when she emphasized the point of making tea so that it is drank and loved. You do want to make you food palatable, don't you?

*I'm Joe.*

I had my reservations. They were in a far distant though. I didn't abhor the idea of letting him see me either, and so in that mixture and concoction of thoughts, I made a sigh, more of a whisper to be exact, and exclaimed: "Whatever happens... " and so I had sent him my latest caption, well, the latest of the 'near sensual class' (that coined phrase is aimed at depicting an erotic appearance)-- I wanted to impact hard, first impressions they say.

As it turned out, he was vastly excited, impressed I should say. He remarked about my calm demeanor, and feminine disposition. How inviting I seemed to be. He told of a sharp desire to touch my skin, to feel my soft lips and look deep into my eyes. He had particularly taken note of my thighs, and in his response, I saw a lusting man. But seeing as we were thausands of miles apart, this inability pierced through his fanciful wishes, and left him a disappointed man; helpless, and at best, imaginative.

A man had fallen in love, perhaps, but by all standards, someone was strongly lusting.

The popular notion of "Trust Issues" would suggest, "I do not trust easily."

So popular, isn't it?

I will tell you:

To trust hesitantly is not an issue, anymore than a light year would portray time.

Caution is caution, and mustn't be mistaken.

The common love-assuring phrase out there is evidently, "I love you to the moon and back."

This sentiment never misses the cake, does it?

My imploration would be, to you who uses that phrase, Tell the vast galaxy what exactly what you mean.

Insanity is insanity, and any form of it must be scrutinized.

The widest approved conception of love firmly asserts, 'Love at First Sight.'

Now that's not true, is it?

The beauteous view of stars is a time-intensive investment to a tune of years.

A shooting star is a shooting star, short lived, and must not be replaced by anything else.

AND SO,

To READILY TRUST in a world of hypocrisy, only that, would fit the truest logic of Trust Issues.

To love unrestrainingly, to the lengths of between planets, in a world of unbalancing interests is nothing short of insanity.

To think of your love as one of a first sight, instantly procured, is the height of fallacy in a world of sensuality and prevalent lust.

I realize that,

In many of these views I'm a lone ranger, but so be it, if in holding therein my conscience settles.

The beautiful universe, the lovely stars, the perfect celestial order, the synchronous patterns of the vast worlds... These all, are the working of a Master Artist. Even so, perfecting love calls for your careful and artistic approaches.

In the very instant of relief; and, In the moment’s sweetness;

In the thinnest memory of love; and, In the faintest hope for the same;

In the frailest evidence of goodwill;

In the small trust that begets trust;

In an espied furtive look of a maiden;

In the brief smile that responds to a smile...

My life’s joys are perfectly supplemented!

Small Small, so did our fathers say!

Time is what it is.

And that which it is has perhaps never been grasped by the human mind.

Man, as he occupies his noble office of seeking meaning, has for the longest time ventured into this amorphous subject. He has desired to lay to rest every point of divergence that he and his brother have on the question of time.

He has thus been led to speculate, theorize, pontificate, argue. But his stand has never been solid. His brother, who by the way also seeks to make sense of the time concept, by philosophy and reason, has endeavored with an equal determination to explain the subject. The result of which is the emergence of wide spectra of ideas. Each in conflict with the other.

But for me, this thing is simple. Now, I may not explain the thausands upon thausands of narratives out there. I may not even precisely point out the definition of time. It is of course too much to ask of me a scientific formula in any of its given respect.

What I have is a real, relatable, and perhaps, an unobjectionable evidence of time and its passage.

There was a day, I remember, a day of awakening. On that day my mind dared to think. As it were, I asked myself, “Why do I suffer physical pain at any given time. It could be a bruised knee. A hurt nail. A scratch here or there. A scratch here and there, and there too. Look, I am now bleeding. Aah, there’s a scar here. There’s another there. A mark is left over that place...”

That was a long time ago, a decade ago at least, no less. My scars and marks are now beyond trace. Use a lense, use a keen sensor. Somehow, fresh skin has it all covered. In fact, the dark (nay, the very black) circular mark that was on my left leg is now lost. I wouldn’t imagine then that I would be freed from the constant reminder of how my leg was close to an amputation. The scar of a roting leg had impressed hard on the spot, and was determined to live along, ever.

But time has done its thing. Its passage is very evident before my eyes. My brain comprehends a significant aspect of it. Right now, if I look at my skin I can hardly locate a scar. I think that is the doing of time. Right now, my mind has no perception of pain. I haven’t cut my finger, neither touched a hot coal. I have not engaged fist-wise with a friend, and I haven’t fell in the course of my running. Definitely, I have grown up, and that too, is the doing of time.

I see time.

Who is Joe Wokiri?

I have deemed it appropriate to establish my Bio in a ‘prose literary format’ -- my understanding of that coined term being, a free style, natural expression format that seeks to add aesthetic to, and through the words I choose to employ. I like words. I love them when they are carefully chosen to convey any given message, and when they are deliberately picked to add beauty to any particular writing.

I love when words build phrases that not only communicate, but also arouse feelings. Statements that do much more than the mere basic! That accomplish high and above the primary essence of conveying a communication. I love that application where, words impart comprehension. It is not a small thing, I perceive, to be able to write and be understood in the very manner one had wanted to. It is even a bigger thing for a writing to appeal to the readers’ side of pleasure.

I am personally impressed by beauty in language. It moves me like a sweet music would, or like a lovely smile would. I highly appreciate when themes come out clearly. When a writer does not equivocate.

In short, I love words.