Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts

Monday 1 June 2020

June Bugs - The Sequel

June came with a blanket of clouds and an outpouring that reminds me that, as troubles never singly come; blessings follow each other in tow, as a gush from a broken cistern. The rendition from a million droplets hitting roofs, windows, the ground, and everything between, creates an atmosphere so early in the morning for metareflection. 
June often come, bearing gifts and bugs. Gifts that waters the ground for amazing growth. A lot of times, as people scream and shout, "It's already the halfway point of the year, what have you achieved"; June is telling us subtly, now is when the fruit of your toil begins to take shape ahead of the harvest. Maybe, now is the time to also fall in love? It also comes bearing bugs that reminds us that life's in phases, and all things come good for those who allow nature take its fill course. June lets us look at it as a glass deemed half full, or half empty.
The last time I took proper note of June; bugs fertilised early and the troubles they hatched, left parts of me in bits and pieces many months later. Quite interesting that I have taken noted of yet another June nearly a decade later, with nostalgia and a few skip of the beat off my chest where it matters. Little wonder it rains so frequently in June, as a man suffering diuresis and refusing to slow down on his bottles.
June comes with thanks on my lips, for family that surrounds with warmth always, friends who cheer my heart with lively banter, work that keeps the mind oiled, and the enigma that sets me off in a maze. In truth, I am happy to be lost in this maze, as I find myself yielding at last, and wanting to be vulnerable.

Saturday 21 October 2017

LONESOME DREAMS - BELINDA

You see, the heart works in mysterious ways. It can be a hard nut to crack, then suddenly it is such a sponge cake, that anything can slice through. When hard, everyone wonders why. And when it goes soft, everyone makes you regret why. It sure gets lonesome this matter of the heart, yeah?

I love how the heart inks memories into time. The waft of laughter filling the air, the soft caress of the hands down the body in the heat of passion, or the time stamp that is good music. Good, in the sense that, the lyrics might not be so cool, but the tone is befitting of the moment which is being inked in to memory. Thus, you might be in a cab or bus, relaxing at home  or simply bumping away to it in your car or your stereo, and its memories come flooding over you.

It can be exciting and nostalgic when the memories bring that feel good drag, especially if you're in love, worst off, were in love. Oh, time and time again, I find a crop of people who use music as time stamps to a place, an event, an anniversary, a date, an occurence... something which must bring goosebumps over them. Good for them. But, it's not the same for those who once were in love, and are now heartbroken.

For, the nostalgia that comes with the waft of the same music, sweeps hate, anger and rage. You still love the song, but hate the memories that tail along. You're caught between the song you love so much, and memory you wished was binned already.

It can't get worse than that, as I've come to learn. You hate the memory with the song, then listen to it more, and begin to banish the memories away from the song, until your love for the song is rekindled. But, would you ever see the song in the same light?

Today bumped into Ojhey's "Belinda", and it brought nostalgia even though I was a first time listener. From the off, I knew  I would be making memories with the music. No wonder, while I lay in wait for strength to go bathe, my right eye kept tearing, because deep down, I knew "Belinda" was time stamp worthy, but would it be for good?

Wednesday 15 March 2017

Lonesome Dreams - June Bugs

Port Blue's "June Bugs" makes for a great flashback trigger. The music itself, and the name are unkind reminders to a sorry past, seemingly waning from a love-lost story, though etched in memory. June was the beginning of the end. But it came lazily with a dummy.
It was the seventh month of my countdowns. And I was ecstatic at how good a boy, I have been in the last six months. No guilt of scandals from my end, except the worries of intermittent bouts of quarrels and fights over what I could never fathom were even the problem.
So, during those calculated fights, I saved money. I wasn't losing outrageous airtime and sms charges because of international call rates. And I wasn't reporting every locational shift like a company leader, who must recco with base, for orders on every tactical maneuver.
Then, I met Ene. She was beautiful. Light skinned, lithe in gait. She had this carriage of a newly wed, who was still basking in the glory her tiara bestowed. But Ene was a troubled young wife, who was already love-lost, broken and neck deep in depression. And her makeup, was a succinct decoy.
The flirt innate in me -- now world famously "irredeemable", jumped and took control from there. In minutes, we were warmly introduced and sharing a table at the reception. My friend Efe kept pinging on whatsapp, how fast I was going, and to slow down. Even though I told him to calm down, "I was in charge", I knew that my demons were in charge as usual.
We talked about everything but our love lives; as it seemed like the dead rat in the room, which no one was eager to touch with a pole. Something was common between Ene and I though. We were both starved of healthy conversations. Our eyes radiated it. And that word "chemistry" which my mother warned about as truly existent, was indeed in the air.
She wasn't spotting a ring on any of the fingers that mattered, so I knew I had all green to be free and open with her, before some brute would slap my ears from nowhere. This was how June begun, and it seemed like it would be an easy month of counting down.
But, isn't it so funny how life sets you up as grass in a fight of two elephants, and leaves you in the end with no one to nurse your sufferings because the egos of those elephants are larger than life? Especially, when you're just the grass, meant not to give undue advantage to either of them elephants which are bent on winning the turf war?
A stupid turf war, where it is apparent that both elephants could just agree on boundaries, and share grazing reserves?
The bugs came in June, and left me toxic until I was clinically diagnosed. Until sunset caused a bleak, cold air to blanket my heart. In June, she had decided on a final solution to the problem that was me. I remember those bugs clearly as ever, and I curse every time, why I didn't harken to the bouts of pain that ruled intermittently in the midst of forced laughter.
Eventually, I lost on both sides - a lover who was bent on eating her cake and having it, and a friend who would not accept that there was something I held more dearly than a platonic friendship. For, they both thought I had a thin line between, which allowed me roam freely. Alas!
Maybe it is totally my fault, and I totally deserve the illness June Bugs brought with them.

Tuesday 14 March 2017

Lonesome Dreams - Rules

Drew knew her love language was "gifts", so he gifted her with the things she needed. Topmost, was quality time. She loved her man to give her unrivaled attention. No matter where he was, she loved that he was glued to her. His time was valuable to him, and he risked a lot to share it with her.
She talked with a flint in her eyes which conveyed deeper thoughts than her lips could say. Often he would be glued, fascinated by the glow in her eyes when she talked. He loved to listen to her. She would talk about everything and any thing. Sometimes, he felt she was wasting his time, but he'd give it up still, to lend a listening ear.
He shared his library with her. Helping another grow mentally was something he was gifted at. He never was the one who would walk in to anyone's life and not make an impact. He was a potter, who liked to smoothen curves and chisel the malleable.
But, she primed herself with the vanity of life. She'd curse under her breath, why he chose to get her Rich Templar's "Rules" series, instead of that Jimmy Choo pair of wedges she had subtly suggested to him in that magazine at the airport.
He loved to travel, and he liked to bring her along. Not because he liked to be escorted, but because every time he traveled, he learnt something new - cultures, cities, economics, politics, beliefs, etc. And, he thought he needed to share this with her. She liked to hear him call her up to pack for the trips.
She was never the one for packing, so he memorized her wardrobe. He would call her and pick her colors, from her gowns to her shoes, to her cosette. Every time she met up with him, he would take his time to pack her bag properly.
Soon, he learned that it gave him quality time to spend with her. She would talk and tease him, while he folded and packed. Then he would share a few things he had learnt from the minutes he'd spent packing her bag. She liked that he invested time in knowing what she liked to wear, and the colors that tickled her eyes.
But, she loved vanity. And, Peter made her vain. He wasn't one for the long run. He was the perfect profile of the "misfit your girl would cheat with". He spoke with an unclear accent which epitomized his "bad boy" profile. Unruly, brutish with a knack for the booze and his smoke, his nonchalance attracted her to him.
She loved this, everything about him; except Drew was the one who seemed like he wanted a family, to get married, build something for the future. So, she was caught between her needs and her wants.
And, she flung caution to the winds, and plunged headlong for her wants...

Saturday 11 March 2017

Lonesome Dreams - Night We Met

We had quarreled weeks preceding this eventful one. It had bothered on jealousy, flirtations, cheating, trust, lies, and all what not. In truth, I was already getting tired of the whole pettiness, and just kept mute most of the time, and let you do as you pleased. You were already at least ten months in to your blind relationship, which was meant to mirror ours, in the event that you returned and found out that I had someone else; as you had assumed; perhaps fueled by whomever it was that advised you.
You had screamed down my throat, calling me names including "man-whore", for traveling to get some from a cougar, even though it was an official trip for me, and the person you were suspecting, was at least four hours away by speed train. Gosh, I remember me trying to tell the truth, walking through airport hallways, drifting from one internet network to another.
Not even a frequent reporting of my location was enough. Only if I knew early enough that you suffered an esteem disorder, and an insecurity, I would have walked early on. But I was too blind to see. I was too stupid to read the handwriting on the wall. And this hurts so badly, to know that I didn't walk early enough, to save us both from what we live with today. At least, what I live with still.
We quarreled, when I settled in to my hotel room. We were miles away, but your bile was all over the place. I ignored you through out the trip from then, to be able to focus on my assignment, and grasp the best out of it. I made awesome friends, and networked for the good of what took me there. And on my way back, Air France played "Night We Met" by Lord Huron, and I fell in love with the song, and with the night we met, although there was a sour taste in my mouth. I itched to know the singer, and managed to scribble lines on my boarding pass.
A few days later, I found out it was Lord Huron, and I had occupied myself with "Lonesome Dreams". I should have known, but I was too foolish. Too foolish to realize that I was subconsciously preparing myself for the most hurtful of heartbreaks I would ever go through. At the time, it was love and nostalgia of times I thought we had spent in sheer, undiluted love. But the events that unfolded a few weeks later, would go on to prove that they were but a mere act, a front of the real you.
And so, after I forgave you the very night I found out there was more than meets the eye, I plunged deep in to a pit, clasping Lord Huron and Coldplay with me as the towels which managed the flood that ravaged. I was in love with my idea of you. My idea of a broken girl, who wanted to love again, and needed someone to let them love, and love freely. So, I stayed within arm's length, and let you blossom freely. And it hurt, to know that you wanted bad. You wanted to love a bad boy. And I was never a fit for that profile.
In return, you broke me, and asked to be forgiven in the cruelest form I have ever encountered. But, I already forgave, so you didn't need to push. Though, I lived with the hurt for weeks. And weeks turned in to months. Years have passed, and to say there are no residue of hurt, would be to lie. I would never forget the entire experience. Especially the fool's joyride you took me on.
You made it seem like my crime was to be honest in communication with you. You made it seem like being faithful and truthful was a crime that good boys commit. You were already drunk on bad boys. You badly wanted an abuser. For, you were already used to being abused, it seemed odd that you had no constraints, so you abused me. I found an aquifer of good in you, but there was already too much of bad around, that my efforts were not enough. Ofcourse, you were not all bad. And yeah, your focus on the petty things of life, were the thin lines which eventually did everything in.
If only there was a point where you ever trusted me...
Not when I came confessing my wrongs, for sure. Not when I told you them truths, for you wouldn't have called me "irredeemable". And when you pushed me from pillar to post, and helped me bottle the grief I yearned to let out. Not when I dashed out to eke a living, while you stayed hung on your lover, under my roof.
Sometimes, I doubt if my bouts of mood swings are not really depression. Once, I had this feeling throbbing in my head, to just walk on the expressway during rush hour, with my eyes closed. I arranged to meet a physician, and I backed out for fear. Maybe I really should go look me up. And, here I am; leashed to songs. Songs which are now place markers to a memory, to a place, to an event, to an argument, to a time we shared a smile, to a time when I thought of leaving or staying, to a time when all was lost, and I was hopeless on how to gather my shattered pieces. And even though it was said that men don't cry, boy, I knew how to cry myself sore, and cry myself empty. Maybe I really did empty everything that remained a fibre in that ailing heart of mine. Maybe I cried out every capacity to love, and love freely.
Today, I don't listen to those songs freely. For, I remain yoked to the burden they carry with my memory. But maybe one day, I'll be back again. Back to that place where I can love again freely. That place where I can give myself up and not be wary of falling.
My demons are here again, and maybe it's time I face them boldly. So, I am learning to walk again. To go past the fear, and walk the beaches of Mombasa again. Just like I have cooked your favorite meal over and over, it no longer have any undertone to it.
You know, we all heal differently. And I yearn, to be friends with you again. Friends, not because I want to get back with you again, but because I want the forgiveness to be complete. It wasn't enough that we met at the cinema, and said "hi" in a tensed manner. It's not enough that you liked my instagram pictures, and told your friend to "say me hi to him".
I also yearn, to move on completely!

Sunday 31 July 2016

LOVE LIKE THE MORNING DEW

Ífè bì èjí òwúrò
Love like the morning dew
Purred from the sides of ur lips
Pursed as the curves of thine frame
Stashed in my bosom at dawn

Friday 26 February 2016

NECTAR

Nectar, I'll be your bee.
Humming all over you on a knee
Let the flower open up, deep
Till you let me suckle with glee

Saturday 30 January 2016

I'M HOLDING UP FOR LOVE

Love, where's your fire?
I've been sat here smoking away
With thorns, fronds and tulips
Making signals, for my need is dire
Still, there's no sign of a flame

Imposters have walked this way
Dripping with offerings, irresistible
Should I hold out for you?
That inferno you talked about,
When does the panorama light up?

That inferno that burns to the bones,
Come wrought me thorough
Rough edges to gloss, mend my tears
Throw me a lifeline, breathe in me
I'll hold my heart up to you

Wednesday 25 November 2015

I'M NOT CHEATING ON YOU

She told me about Chimamanda's book, Americanah that she was reading. The part where the lad traveled to school and left his girl in the care of his friend. We both laughed over skype, knowing fully well what transpired next, even though I had not read the book. In truth, she was talking to me, but I was too dumb to realize the logic. For she was already long gone in to the arms of another man. It was in March. It still froze. My judgment was beclouded with love - that ghost - to realize that the cold would send her into the bed of another. Lucky chap. Maybe a lonely Briton. Perhaps a lout.
Things were still rosy, even though I had raised eyebrows at the Facebook chat she had screengrabed and shared with me. The 'unknown' admirer. And then there was the birthday gift. Little did I know that the gifts were given in December, barely a few months after she had left for Wales. These two were tell-tale signs that Deola had left me. But I was still being stupid. We talked alot about the thickness of her winter jacket, the shop where she could get groceries from Nigeria, her coursework and the laptop I was saving up to get her. I hated for her to go to her friend's place first before we could skype. The privacy was non-existent.
I, Dimka Bernard was still love struck, and tied to the 'faithfulness' stake while she rode day and night by his side to school, then to the opera, the beach and even his bed. We argued over the email I had received from an anonymous person about spotting her and the Briton kissing on Bangor's streets. She chided me that it was a moment for my trust for her to be tested, "I am not cheating on you. People who know you online, see me interact with friends and course mates, and they freak out". I agreed. Though I was going through a rough patch, I was focused on her. She had just one year to spend in Wales and hopefully I will grow up to be that man who was right for her. I had swore, she'll be my last bus stop, so I invested every emotional resource I could muster. I was such a fool for love. A big one indeed.
I have now ended up in a pool of my own tears, with rage, anger, regrets, hate and grief as mates. For Deola riled me up to quarrel with her over my‪#‎WomanCrushWednesday‬ post on instagram of Bolanle Olukanni. Though Bolanle and I were good friends on snapchat, it was only on twitter that we grew our friendship. She was engaged to the father of her two year old son. I was secretly - which Deola hated with everything - in a relationship. And while in angst, she said she was walking away from what we shared.
Such silly jokes I thought. "How can you even break up with me on whatsapp? So I set about lending a car to drive to MMIA2 to pick her up in August when she was returning with her Masters. But she walked out of the "Arrivals" door, arm locked with a lad who had a moustache and an air about him that reeked of moral decline. She saw me and paused in shock. I gathered my now wobbly legs and dashed out into the milling crowd, half lost, half in rage as my chest to the left began to ache

Wednesday 7 October 2015

THROUGH MY EYES

All my eggs are cast in one
The other baskets have shells
Rotten eggs don't sink in a basin
My heart flows like clear water
The honesty now reeks as lies
Its burst cistern will tumble with rage
"Do as I say, I'll do as I will
Bottle up my rampage, it's not for sale
See the world only through my eyes."
My eyes have turned to shells
The yolk tumbles from rage
And I'm blind, for your eyes are shut

Wednesday 21 January 2015

I WASN'T HE WHO CHOPPED THE TREE

I wasn’t he who chopped the tree,
Amadioha.
Why have thou cursed me?
The Ogene bounces off the sides of the mounts,
Horns and flutes purr at the heart of still waters...
Why am I in the way of a burst cistern?
Waves disturbs the calm of my dreams;
Of trickles come from the cistern’s cracks.
Why am I the cursed of them all?
Off they run to Nkwobi’s warm bossom,
Salted. The alligator pepper well done!
But upon shards of glass my heart is thrust

Monday 1 December 2014

The Wind In Her Wings

Le Eagle soared away at dawn
But we were not lorn
Father Sky was kind - we tarried much
Then she caught the wind in her wings
Same which I purred from my pipes
So I was breathless when she was gone
With kindred spirit in formation
Umunna in tow to new breeding fortes.

Tuesday 8 April 2014

WHAT DO BABIES DREAM OF?

What do babies dream...
Of? lily petaled valleys
And flowing cisterns that water them?
Of streams that in ensemble,
Sing to the forests, and
Calms the pupae that spins the silk?
Of a land plush in panorama
Cast in front of a sinking sun,
Red, tired and a reminder that life's in a circle?
What do babies dream of?

Friday 31 January 2014

I'd Cry You A River

I want to call your name -
To scream it forth from my depths. 
But you've placed a curse to my lips, a spell to silence!

So I scream through my eyes;
Wet at the corners.
I groan your name with thumping heartbeats

I'd cry you a river, what do I care? 
My demons are here again anyways; 
But this once, have time chanced me to love thee

Wednesday 22 January 2014

A KISS IN YOUR SLEEP

My demons are here again
I'm cursed to watch you sleep
Depths of your slumber
Brings me wallow in stares
Thy long lithe frame
Wont for wrappers
Of my bossom's cusps of warmth
The calm of your face
Tells of the air of peace
As I crave a kiss in your sleep

Monday 2 December 2013

Monday 6 May 2013

DON'T LOVE ME SWEET

Don't love me sweet
My heart's deep and wide
You can never fill it

Don't love me sweet
My heart's given up
To maternal love, surreal
 ­
Don't love me sweet
My heart's too broken
Your love can't mend it

Don't love me sweet
My heart's not for one
Yours' a loosing fight

Don't love me sweet
My heart's dead
Immortality reigns here

Don't love me sweet
My heart's given up to hell
You love but a bestial

Don't love me sweet
My heart's too selective
You don't fit the profile

Don't love me sweet
My heart's in need of reality
You, but a dream