Posts Tagged ‘ love ’

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”

Advertisements

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

Church in 2 Minutes

Of course the preacher was talking about seeking first the Kingdom of God for the New Year, but that was what entered my head at best. What I was seeing was indeed the Kingdom of God. All blue place with golden stands and snow white brightness with Jerusalem bells ringing and angelic voices singing, a place with beautiful compartments and apartments with all the right sizes in all the right spaces; a place with great roads that are curved and straight in the right way with silver lining. The Kingdom of God I was seeing had red earrings on.

Lovely air clear fair skinned flesh between the shoulders and the neck region bounded by an alluring blue native attire, a red beaded necklace and silver coloured head tie, leaving some night dark hair peeking out of the head tie. The head gear looked like a space ship designed by aliens that possessed technologies 2,000 years more advanced than we. I saw sparkles in the sky that was her head gear, could have been real or a figment of my beautiful mind. Now I know where Lagbaja got his inspiration from. Good head on shoulders, i was already drawn into a world compared to heaven already and I was yet to see her face.

The church stoop up for prayers and, the elegant piece of remembrance from God that he still moves in mysterious ways, also stood graciously to reveal what could make the rich richer, and the poor poorer. Beauty, just like freshly brewed beer and purely distilled alcohol. The blue dress hanging on her delicately sharp curves with the inward bending of her body and the outward continuation down the figure. Hell was gone and heaven came. I shouldn’t have seen the hands, really shouldn’t have looked. From the beads, wrist bands to the necklace and earrings, it was like the world we live in was in perfect harmony with every other living thing; the world was smiling back at me through her accessories.

Didn’t move, didn’t turn. I didn’t stare away. It was one of those moments in life where you are ready to go to jail for your faith and catch a grenade. For once, I felt the song by Bruno. I’ll swallow a grenade for this one, implode, belch it out and shout halleluyah. I was tripping for a faceless body at the risk of liking a butterface. What if she looked gorgeous and had a hideous face? I pondered in my head; quite aimlessly too.

Then the inevitable occurred, she turned. My heart skipped a beat, my ease closed ad she greeted the person next to her, her mouth slowed and my mind soared. Fully turned, I was shocked; it wasn’t what I was expecting. I shouted “blood of jisos” in my heart and turned away my gaze. Caught a glimpse and how dare I stare!!! Her face was deeper than a symphony, broader than science and brighter than art. Mother Nature’s work of perfection. A face that defies everything English can use to contain it; all lined with blue eye shadow, thick eye lashes and red lipstick.

Still in awe of the heavenly experience of a celestial body in our terrestrial space, a tap came to my shoulder and met a frown on my face. “It’s time to go home” unawesomely came the words to my ears, like a slave trade language. My vexation level immediately rose. Got home to the inglorious news of grossness on TV; screw that!! She’s awesome! But what a spectacle to see on a new year day.

Ode to Miss Anike


I dont know how to hide my feelings
To me they are quite clear
That everytime i talk to you
I'm wishing you were here 

Golden yellow sunshine above the hills
The beauty of the heaven in her eyes
One Mortal soul that transcends immortals
The wingless angel that dominates the blue skies

You fill my heart with happiness
The reason why I smile
But when you have to leave my company
I miss you all the while 

Nobody needs Anike more than I
And you know I'd never let you go
Cause you fill me with the kind of joy
That only few can ever know 

People find it hard to say
The words i say so clear
But when i think of your sweet love
It's something i hold dear 

Miss Anike I"ll just wait right where I am
I can be patient too
Till you come back online to me
Know im missing you...

 

Butterfly on a Fingertip.

From the depressing low of Friday to the exhilarating natural double high of Saturday back to the silently gloomy boredom of the festive holidays, my graph was more like that of a quadratic equation with a positive ‘c’; pardon my people with a morbid fear of calculations. In between these many activities was a wedding, a birthday and a television. I watched Timi Dakolo of West African Idols sing ‘More than I’, ‘Stuck on you’ and ‘Flying without wings’ and I wonder where the ‘halo’ the dude has been and I thought, what if he was patiently cooking something up. Keyword being PATIENCE.

Forgive my possibly rusticated knowledge of zoology, biology or toxicology (whichever moulting falls into), but I wanna pick on that beautiful piece of radiating awesomeness called the Butterfly. In my top five creatures of flawless beauty and graceful magnificence is the butterfly. So bright and colourful that I wish some people were half as attractive as them. They slice through the air and flap their multi chromatic wings in the bright sunshine, they adorn a garden. They don’t blend into the colours of the field in the way a chameleon would, they stand and deeply make us wish we could fly like them and feed on nectar (seriously, life should be that simple). But one thing makes the butterfly come out beautiful; Patience.

Have you ever seen a larva? It looks like something I don’t wanna say for the sake of those eating as they read this; it looks like colourised goat poop stringed together. Yes. And they live like that forever before turning to butterflies. If you were given an ugly larva with no directions as to when it would moult, would you be patient enough for the beauty inside to be birthed?

Love songs are beautiful. Gosh they are transcendental. ‘Flying without wings’ is so heavenly, celestial in all forms and figures, ‘Say Yes’ by Elliot Smith is a lazy floaters mini love manual; absoposilutely fabulous. But the biblical Jacob would probably have been singing ‘Stuck on You’ for Rachael. Yeah, he was on his way. When the words of love songs stream down into your soul, when Bon Jovi, Luther Vandross and George Benson are making you mushy mushy, remember they are out to sell albums. And no, I’m not a kill joy.

The hunter mentality in we men had made it a compulsive pursuit in which when we do not catch the deer, we make do with the guinea fowl; awesome taste profile, awful substitution. When we lack patience, we aim for a Range Rover and settle for a Datsun 180k because we didn’t wait a couple of hours more.

When you have a wonderful voice and wanna be a singer, you need to be patient and not end up like Kelly Handsome. You wanna play football and want to be the best dead ball specialist, you need to be patient and not be the next David Bentley. When you wanna speculate the stock market and aren’t patient, you will be dead or broke or both. If you are in love with a girl and you’re convinced she is the one, be impatient and lose the girl.

Jacob was no fool; he would be a superhero in the modern day climate. Seriously. Fourteen years sounds like vegetable love, but that was some patience blended with purpose. The beautiful butterfly took time to grow, love does the same. Give it time and it would bloom. The patient dog proverbially gets the fattest bone. Timi will have his time, and so will any patient human. Love is beautiful and delicate like a butterfly, but to have a butterfly land on your fingertip trustingly, you need a huge dose of longanimity. My mind is blown and I’m counting my time.

Advertisements