Skip to main content

Me and the Devil



If I had two lives,
I would live one as a cheater and the other as a teacher,
Living them both concurrently,
Yet still entwining them seamlessly.






As a cheater, I'd rob myself of the time I'd spend with family and friends in the name of solitude.
And I'd strive to have this quiet life that I'd wish to call happy,
Only to come back without one and still be unhappy.



I'd go back to school and steal back good grades just to look cool,
Only to return degraded and still not looking cool.
I'd try to climb altitudes without an ounce of gratitude,
Only to come back burnt out and with an attitude.



But then as a teacher I'd say—
To myself I'd say:
To live a life is to live a full one.
To live a full life is to know you have only one.
To enjoy a life is to share it with someone.



But what if I didn't have one?
What if I was only living someone else's?
What if I robbed myself of the only one?
What if I was blinded by only bits of it?



Aging as a cheater,
I'd scam my body with sodas and KFC, and as if that's not enough,
Run off to somewhere in my childhood and avoid anything outside the classroom.
I'd be skeptical of a brotherhood that felt too good to be true.



And I'd work my way to my first office just to get there and eye the bigger one.
Work overtime just to outwork everyone.
And in the fog of more money and titles, I'd forget my own body;
Grow to be so heavy that taking the stairs would not be so easy.



Then as a teacher I'd say—
To myself I'd say:
To live a life is to live a full one.
To live a full life is to live one well.
To live a life well is to pick up the dumbbell,
And to pick up the dumbbell is to live a life well.



But what if I am too late to change mine?
What if I can never make up for the time?
What if the cheater in me took over mine?
What if I am just living a consequence of what my hands put forward?



Then I'd run off to sell my own soul to the devil,
Just to have for myself whatever is left of life.
Whether it's just fame, more fame,
Or just money, and more money.



I'd brag about a life well-lived and try to sell the world my recipe for it.
That's right—
A billion dollars in their bank and an island of their own;
I'd sell them their own dreams,
Just for me to take whatever money they have left.



Then suddenly I'd miss the feeling of loving and being loved;
Perhaps it would be a little bit too late.

I'd then feel somewhat dumb and numb.
So dumb I'd believe I got here on my own.
So numb I'd only love things and use people to own more things.
So dumb there'd be only one song in my playlist.



Then as a teacher I'd say—
To myself I'd say:
To live a life is to live a full one.
To live a full life is to prepare for the one to come.
To enjoy a life is to share it with someone,
And to share it with someone is to live a just one.



But what if I don't care anymore?
What if I am the life?
What if everyone is not themselves anymore?
What if they only want to live my kind of life?
What if me and the devil 
Are walking side by side?





Jabbar 
Kampala, 
March 2026

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Blind Emulation.

A heavy head from an active Friday night is all you have left. Forgetting your worries and living your fantasies was your reason. Now here you still are, sober enough to remember your bills, your landlord's share from your monthly peanuts and ofcourse, the little one's welfare. You meant to create joy and happiness from it only to end up with bad breath, a terribly intoxicated body and suspicion getting you craving for as many more pills in the name of security and prevention. It must be crazy out there. I know. It is crazy out there. In every hundred of us, the majority continues to contain this same syndrome. Working like a horse from Monday through the week to Friday, where the party gets started. And then there comes the weekend getting you to sleep like a koala in your would have been most useful time. Hold it. Now Hold it a bit. Take a deep breath and then you can read on. I got some bitter truths about you on the low you might wanna ponder on. Don't wo...
4 comments
Read more

Rosy Actually Ep.4

                    As she approached the open front door of her apartment she wondered whether they hadn't hurt her mother. Once she got in, she noticed that everything was in place except for the broken vessel in the center of the living room which indicated that there might have been a struggle as Frank's boys made the move. Yet they were so clean. Nothing else was broken or damaged. They likely captured the old woman swiftly without a single soul noticing them. She turned around to examine the door closely. It hadn't a single scratch. Whoever made it in either had a copy of the key  or found it open. But it could never have been open as far as Lucy knows her mother's cautiousness. By now, she would probably be yelling at her for returning late like she had always done since Lucy's late teens. She ran out to examine the courtyard. Whichever vehicle had done this was definitely big as its tyre tracks indicated, And it was most lik...
Post a Comment
Read more

Rosy Actually EP.2

           Lucy does not fancy flirting because she also never catches herself when she actually does. Imelda watched as her friend got drained in the intense dialogue with a guy who had once crushed on her. You could tell that he enjoyed every bit of it. Her voice, blended with how she spoke with her body, told you how much she was into the conversation. She maintained fine eye contact and occasionally lost her breath between words. When she burst into laughter, she didn't even notice that the whole room had eyes on her. The guy couldn't help but stare at her ex-crush's excitement.   Perhaps she's come to her senses...that I am the one for her, He hoped. The same minute he imagined them going on a long honeymoon. How perfect would that be? Fate must be playing her cards in his favor. He was no longer listening. He could only hear her beautiful voice in the background on her fine portrait giggling and smiling the whole time.  'Oh Brandon.' ex...
Post a Comment
Read more