Archive for the ‘ Love life ’ Category

Perhaps we will

Cute-couplesPerhaps we will be together in many places, in many phases of our lives: Chatting with friends, dancing to slow jams in different places, competing in sports for fun, enjoying intellectual and deep conversations, sitting on the beach, enjoying various delicacies from all the ends of the world (yes we will eat food), wrestling with the rhythmic motion of our bodies intertwined. Perhaps through all these times, places and phases, you would grow to love me and trust me, to know in your heart that I will never hurt you. In your own chosen time and in your own chosen way, you may be willing to let me into your heart. To see, to touch, to feel the deepest part of who you truly are; the part of you that is precious, that is soft, vulnerable and beautiful. I would sell my soul to the devil to have this opportunity. Letting me love you is the most valuable gift you could ever give me.

Perhaps, at the same time, I may be willing to trust you wholeheartedly; to let you into my hard outer shell I put up to keep me safe inside. Yes, I’m scared too. Yet I don’t want to keep myself too safe, because I don’t want to be too distant. Both go hand in hand, both are cousins, when you trade one, you trade the other.

Will you promise not to laugh at me when I need you to hold me? Will you promise to listen and not judge me when I feel sensitive? Will you promise to feel with me when I have enough courage to share vulnerable feelings with you? Will you promise to confront me when I step on your toes unintentionally? Will you promise to argue with me when necessary, and stand up for yourself when I’m upset with you? And then be willing to reach a mutual agreement that is good for both of us? And, after that, will you rejoice with me in our relationship that says it’s okay to have conflicts and it feels so good to get them out and get them resolved?

I really desperately want to let myself feel free with you. If I don’t, you and I will have missed a valuable, beautiful experience. I hope we let the flower of our relationship unfold, let it grow at its own pace. Just let it go, let it flow. I will continue to enrich your life as you continue to enrich mine.

Thank you , because I know you will love me.

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Raining Sunshine

The wind after the heavy rain is never warm.

Storm clouds gather over the city of Lagos; looming, threatening, and looking like it would pour with unrepentant and unyielding venom. A lot of people going about their business, wary of the rain about to fall often find themselves stuck in its middle; some armed with their umbrellas, a handful feeling hapless, desperate and ready to enter the downpour of heavy laden precipitation without regard for whatever consequences may result: A decision some regret longer than others. Cough, cold and productive catarrh are definitely not enough to convince the vigilant and the virtuous to take such daunting and unreasonable risk.

Sometimes, when you notice the assembling thick dark clouds, the blinding lightening, the deafening thunder, it is best to remain indoors, lock the main door and close a couple of windows to prevent the chill from getting to your chest. Often times you only learn after you’ve been soaked to the point of dripping, each falling droplet from your body reminding you of the decision you made rather poorly. You always know when the fluffs in the sky are gathering, you see the warning signs but choose to ignore them, maybe because you attach more importance to the party you want to attend than to the damage the cold is capable of doing to your own self.

Once in the rain, it’s irreversible: The visual stimulation of the lightening and the emotional detachment of the thunder. Your feet get wet and your shoes get soaked, they suffer for it. Then you suffer for it. You know better than to walk into what could turn you into ashes of fluid, the ashes would vanish but the chill will remain. Your moral and puritanical upbringing serves as a warning, a prophecy way before the rain falls, before all the rains would fall.

Sunshine warms the skies when it appears, and it is the best time to do anything you need to do. It has all the trappings of safety, comfort, sensibility and security. And it is the time to remind you never to get caught up in the storm. It may look like a small cloud that would drizzle and be over quickly; it never is. Almost every time you expose yourself the harsh darts Mother Nature shoots at you, a part of you changes: some parts die and some parts awake to the realisation that some parts are dead. You make Paracetamol a premium selling product.

You get wiser after being beaten by the rain? No you don’t. You think you do, but you don’t.

After the rain, the sunshine doesn’t just magically appear. No: Just the wind of cruel bitter realisation that the clouds could have passed without a drop of water touching the sole of your feet. Just a cruel bitter realisation that the rain didn’t have to fall.

I wasn’t talking about rain.

Your Beauty

Shyness, that was what it was thought to be; inability to look straight into the eye of another human and tell the person what sits deep in your mind, inability to speak to a person and hit the deepest part of who they truly are because of fear. It wasn’t shyness in her case, it was insecurity.

“Beauty: excelling in grace or form, charm or colouring, qualities which delight the eye and call forth the admiration of the human face or other objects.”

She has the beauty to brighten up the darkness, but her fears make her bury it deep beneath the shadows. Her reserve of wisdom is so vast it could teach a generation, so deep it can never be exhausted, yet she bridles her tongue and bites every word before it even nears the exits of her curvy lips. Haven been told over and over again that all anyone could possibly want from her is her beauty and her wisdom, it became imperative for her to guard herself against the wolf that she had been warned of. The wolf that only exist proverbially: the victimless wolf that has kept her butterfly from flying.

She’s not proud, but she’s timid. Afraid she’ll say something wrong. Her loud heart has been tamed by the stories created around her. In a world where the truth is forbidden, convenient fabrications have sharpened how she lives her life. She’s even afraid to use her face as profile pictures; ashamed of her flawless beauty.

You’ll find her at the back of the line, looking away insecurely or walking on the edges, being wary of every crawling gecko, suspicious of even the orgasmic sound of a mating wasp. Yet it would be erroneous to blame her, she has done no wrong, just living the life that society has designed. If only she knew better, she would live her life to the fullest and flaunt herself to the benefit of the world. If only she knew her beauty weighs more than the size of a bullet and it’s a blessing unto the world and not something to be ashamed of, then she would rule her world. She would dominate and let her aura influence those around her.

They say beauty does not last, but I decline. It’s transgenerational and could outlast whoever is wearing it. Beauty isn’t a thing that is only externalised; it’s also a sum of the internal. All she knows is that she’s wanted for only her beauty, but I wish she knew that someone out there would love her even if she had wicked scarification on her body. I wish she knew she was created that way to be a light on the bacon. If the world doesn’t get to hear her story, would she influence the world? I doubt. She’ll be stuck in silence except she decides to speak up. Someone should save her with these words “your beauty is your blessing, not your curse.”

After Waterloo

Silence.

That was all I could hear, see or feel. A moment that belonged in the black hole; silence so thick and immense, it was like matter. The numbing noiselessness so thick I could tear through the decibel particles of it the way a turtle would waddle through the weight of mud. Spiritless and empty, devoid of any logic, shattered beyond even my powers of observation; but all I heard was nothing as everything flashed before me. It wasn’t my choice, the silence wasn’t induced, it was the voice of inevitability. The silence was more a roar of an impending undoing; the roar would rock even the earth to its core. In my eyes, no sorrow showed.

The quietness of defeat, the exquisite torture of a crushed soul, leading to visions not to be uttered, not even in the realm of higher life. The words fell on my ears and everything else made no sound. I grew up learning many languages; none was coherent in my head as I walked the lonely road to the bridge. All I ever wanted passed through my hands in but a flashing moment. I had high dreams but got nothing. I walked on and on. I had it but didn’t have it. It had always eluded me. Unsure of how to move on, I sank deeper into the hole in my soul.

In my head I could picture flashes of guns, the thunder of cannons, the shrieks of the slain, the surgeons and their knives besides my bruised and broken spirit. If I was to describe it all, I would be an artist; but if I was an artist, there would be deeper wounds which I would not be able to describe. It was like a train wreck waiting to happen; how I longed for someone to pick me up from the tracks, to save the wildfire from frustration.

I learned silence from the talkative, tolerance from the intolerant and kindness from the unkind; yet, strange, I’m ungrateful to those teachers; none had led me to what I wanted. I longed for the day when the torture would end, I would wear a smile and walk in the sun. But it was a far cry, for all I had for company was the silence of great love that stung stronger than death. The silence that only music could find words to explain. On the walk to the bridge, I did my crying in the rain.

The Mirrored Me

There you are, the little me, the miraculous outcome from the spill of my male menace after ravaging the concubines of a clavicle. The mirrored me, the power that escaped from my loins. You remind me of everything I was and all I never was; from the beauty of my seduction I got more than I wanted, everything I never had. I’m filled with glee and bliss that my first pour of wine to the earth gave up its finest back to me.

Your tiny hands gripped my finger like you knew who it was and in a moment, I was in love. It felt like my heart was being squeezed and through your eyes, I could see the world smiling back at me. I carried you in my arms and softly kissed your fluffy pink cheeks and the manliest of tears I ever shed ran down the isle of my lean face as I’ve never felt a love so pure and true; after I met your mother that is. I’ll never trade a day with you for all the money in the world, I won’t trade even your toys for all the diamond in Russia, and I’ll never trade the sleepless nights you gave to me for all the trophies in the world.

To your mother, I hold the fire that burns beyond my cloak and deep in my heart. My love, my life, the beauty of my seduction, the mother of my child. No higher position, no loftier throne has any other in my heart; the best design with nothing missing, a completed jigsaw that have merged into an indivisible perfect picture. To her I owe all, the conveyor of you into my life. From the moment she knew you existed, the love for you had no resistance; the elation she felt as you grew in her womb, the joy I felt in my heart when you started to bloom.

From the first time you kicked me in the ears until that glorious day you actually appeared upside down and much quicker than planned, you change my life in that instant. I pray that I remain a good father to you and that I live a life worthy of emulation. I can’t seem to get to grips exactly with what I did to deserve you, but I definitely must have done something right because having you as my daughter has been nothing short of pure delight.

This day last year, you cried as you came into my life, your cry brought a smile to my face as I was birthed into the realm of being a father. You are the best part of me. Happy birthday Iteoluwakiishi, love you till eternity.

(FICTION)

Birthday Bed

“Bed bed bed, put you to bed, bed bed bed” was singing beneath my closed mouth as I was anticipating the blissful conjugation of the long arm of the clock to 12 and the short arm to 5. Would have played the music of J Holiday out loud if not for company policy against music: What kinda crap company makes a policy against “Bed”!? Sickening thoughts. My enthusiasm to leave work was as a consequent of the SMS I got earlier. The text message that triggered the holocaust, a message that could make Hitler’s dead body(wherever it is), want to have a one night stand with a Jew of Abrahamic descent. “Honey, I’m waiting for you. The bed is well laid for your birthday *wink*” was the message from my 6 month old wife. I don’t understand why women of these days love to put a man in trouble on the day I was born; I could have jumped from the 11th floor if not for security interventions.

My shirt was soaked in sweat as I lost control of my body. I wasn’t coordinated whatsoever and my mind, soul and body were fixed on the prize. A prize I gave lots of yam tubers and kegs of palmwine to get. If you think its beans, try marrying from the eastern part of Nigeria. Stock market wedding ceremonies. When you have a babe that is a lawyer at the top of her game with a big legal firm, believe me, you will invest.

Exit time came; I rushed down to my car, with the smile of an idiot that just saw food; beaming with glorious incalculable glee. We got married months ago and work has been so hectic for both me and the lil lady holding up my ring in her finger, but through it all, we still try to find time to be naughty and keep the fire burning; it’s not like mine ever died. We seldom have sex, we only make love (whatever you term that to be). I was already picturing the whole scenario in my head and forgot to even reply my boss when he said “Birthday boy, you’ll be working on the report at home right, should I be expecting something tomorrow?”. “Report fire!” I said behind sealed lips.

Started the car engine and turned on the stereo for some inspiration. “O ya Funke, Pakurumo”, I turned it off immediately. What kinda person in my soggy bottom condition would wanna pakurumo? I remembered I had an iPhone (my only phone) and at the stage, I knew my head wasn’t in the right place. Stuck earphones into my head and jailed J Holiday into a prison of replay.

Every Lagosians’ second wife was out again, Lady Traffic. So demoralising, but the song on repeat kept me going. I was feeling the song, didn’t look, almost hit the red Kia Picanto beside me, whose driver shouted “Are you mad?”, to which I replied “Baba e!”, knowing fully well that it was my fault; his car was looking like a glorified boxy Pringles case. It’s a Lagos thing, even when you drive like a moron, you retain the moral stand to curse and abuse. Then salvation came; Danfo nuisance was the cause and it was cleared on time. I fired my 2 year old Honda accord to the maximum. Third Mainland Bridge was unusually free and I knew the deities were on my side. They know what’s up.

My phone rang and it was my wife, I didn’t pick up because I wanted the suspense and fire to stay breathing. I was going to get some dragons to breathe more flame into the fire. What is quality birthday love making without some giant scented candles and some chocolate boxes with a bottle of champagne? Nothing. I stopped by at the store to grab all that, because the house supplies were out. I changed the music to “Spanish eyes” by Backstreet Boys as I smiled to the cashier. How on earth did she know I was on a mission? A mission I signed up for; paid for: For life. She smiled like she could see right through me. Maybe because I was in an obviously unusual hurry.

Got into the corner of the street and I could see the roof of my house at the horizon, my heart skipped a beat and a rush of blood left my head downstream. Got a beep on my phone from the little bride and I knew I was late, but I had more than enough to make it up. Checked the message and it was still enough to start a civil war and turn Hitler impotent. “Pick your phone honey *kill joy* your parents just came in, said they’re here for your birthday”

Close to a Song

Not in many words, not in many lines, not in a trailer load of gift can I say it well enough. It’s been on my mind for a long time and I’ve never been shy to make it show. The fact that I love you is even known to the soldiers that died in the Trojan War: They saw it coming, they tried fighting it, they died fighting it. I love you – those three words have my life in them.

From the rising of the sun, it’s you I see. The thought of you in my head illuminates my heart more than the sun and moon could ever do. I carry a picture of you here in my heart, and your image is imprinted on my soul. I have tried learning many languages to cast it on stone from my heart but no human tongue has been able to capture its magnitude as much as it burns in my soul.

You are bigger than the sun, you make me shine more than the stars that twinkle at night. Such a lovely sight to behold, you set me free and my spirit feels free. In your eyes, the beauty of the whole world shines and always almost turn me sightless; whenever you stand before the sun and shine I get lost and have no idea why the moon ever has to be. I won’t ever trade your beautiful smile for an Arsenal trophy or the fastest car in the world (tough choice aye?).

I have you smile to warm me, I have your voice to cheer me. And even when you are not around all I have are your memories. But these things have I.

You are the closest thing to a song, you make me wanna laugh and some other times you make me wanna cry. But you constantly put me on a natural high. Who wouldn’t be high, having your words flow like the sweetest notes from the honeycomb. Anytime I’m not around you, I feel like I’ve left something behind, and whenever I’m not looking at you, I feel blind.

You’re more than an angel, you are a human that would make angels drop their jaws. When you in my arms, even if the angels come for me, I’ll tell heaven to wait.

You’re my day and my night and my world. You are my life

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