You are hot and spicy,
Juicy and saucy,
Tangy and tingly, yes you are.
So I got my coconut cream, blended you in it and got my perfect curry!
Tag: fiction
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Got this from pexels.com -
I know the things you wish to say,
I hear them, see them, feel them and when you open your mouth, I ignore them.
With you, I have learned to let you lead by the story you tell yourself,
I have learned to watch you script, direct and live out your story.
I know the things you wish to say,
The question you ask yourself when no one is watching,
When you believe the world is distracted,
And just like that, I’ve watched you create another,
You say I have my walls, my Love, you’ve got fortresses,
They sprout up every time you get too close to letting me in,
So, I watch you, always the invader, always on the outside,
Oh, don’t you know you’re just like caramel? Too sweet and sensuous to ignore?
Photo by Teddy tavan on Pexels.com -
Where do you go when you’re hurting?
Within. Without. Yonder?
Where?
Do you take a bus, walk, sit and close your eyes to get there…or do you find yourself there at dawn, restless, nostalgic, but conscious of how much you’ve done to stop hurting but nothing has worked?
Tell, me…
Where do you go when you’re hurting?
For, the place you seek solace can also be your prison…so, tell me, for my soul yearns to know, to listen to another soul that’s been where I am…
And in all you do, would you please do me a favor?
Wherever it is that you run to, I hope you never let it dim that light in you, because we need it.
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I want to tell you a story.
No, it’s not a revelation,
No, it’s not a confession.
It is a conversation,
Something only you and I know about…remember?
Credit goes to: cottonbro/ http://www.pexels.com -
Before the clock strikes midnight,
Say my name.
Call it when your soul is still,
Yes, say my name.
Say it when it feels like the universe is bent on keeping me away,
Say it, because I’m afraid if you do not,
I will.
Before the clock strikes midnight…say my name.
Call me into a new dawn, an assurance that wherever my soul may be,
It will always smile upon you.
Gaurav Kumar Verma took this photo/ http://www.pexels.com -
My grandmother says that love is like diarrhea, it needs neither an invitation nor privacy. I did not believe her until I met Abubakar and Ishmael.
I did not meet them at once, rather like bouts of diarrhea, they befell me.
We crossed paths and now we seem to be walking together. I know not who is on my right or left but I feel pulled in different directions. I sway like the tree that is blown by the wind, but, my mind, like the roots of a strong tree, is fixed. It is grounded.
Abu a.k.a Abubakar
I was going home after a long day’s week. I walked into the bus station and headed straight to the big, blue and white buses marked “RASASI.”
“St. Mary’s, Langa’ta, na Otiende…forty! Forty!”The tall guy ushered me in. I took my seat nearest the door because I would alight first.
It felt good to be rid of the sun. The sun that dared to walk amongst us humans- as though we were equals.
He saw me. I saw him. He was dressed in maroon from head to toe. He was the same guy who had been calling out to people to board the bus. He had ushered me in. He was the one whose voice I heard, yet never dared to see his face. I did not have the time. He had small black eyes, sharp pointed ears and dry cracked lips. He smiled at me. I was staring. I smiled, just a little for he must have strained to part his lips. I could give him my lip gloss, but guys don’t do gloss. Besides my grandmother always says not to initiate contact unless it is warranted.
Fire keeps burning whether you touch it or not. You only get burned when you are stupid enough to reach out and touch it. I could feel dry cracked lips eyes on me. I turned to look and he smiled again. I was pleasant and the next thing he did was hand me his phone. His number being sealed, he asked for mine.
I keyed in one of my numbers. What harm could it do sharing my number with dry cracked lips?
He smiled, and then called immediately.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You are beautiful.”
“Thanks.”
I hang up, not because he said I was beautiful- but because he dared tell me what I already knew. Couldn’t he be more clueless? What if he said it softly? It would still make no difference because it was not warranted.As the bus pulled out of the station, I thought to myself how foolish I had acted. What had caused my actions? Hormones, impulse, time or folly? I could not tell, but now some guy with dry cracked lips named Abubakar had my number.
He said ‘call me Abu,’ and I thought of Abu- the monkey in Aladdin and smiled. I was foolish, but even fools can be redeemed can’t they?
Excerpt from, Love Like Bouts of Diarrhea, published on Smashwords, April 10, 2014.
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You are a scent.
Sweet, lingering, nostalgic…redemptive.
You are life,
Blooming in the sun, hibernating in winter and sometimes when the world is distracted,
you smile, a little…a reminder of the light within you.
Sometimes, I tell myself that these thoughts would wound me,
You know they do.
So, as my heart yearns for freedom, my soul sings these confessions…like the scent of you that lingers long after you’ve gone.
Rikonavt took this/www.pexels.com -
I do not ask for much,
Not when I haven’t enough to give, for this little heart of mine,
Needs some time to heal and shine.
I ask for light, love, time, joy…
I ask for all the things that require patience to blossom.
DeMorris Bryd took this photo. (@brydman85) on http://www.pexels.com -
Do you remember the first time we met?
I look at your shoes, new Converse, they’re black, just the way I like them.
You sigh and deposit that cigarette in your mouth.
I look at you and you rise,
‘Sorry, you don’t want to catch Cancer, certainly not by second-hand smoke.’
I look at my fingers. It’s something I find myself doing of late.
I look at them and imagine myself holding a pen, how firm that is.
I imagine myself slowly tearing a chapati, my favorite thing to eat and smile.
Love, I’m talking to you, are you listening?
I nod and you smile, ‘you are thinking, you have traveled to one of your worlds and left me to my cigarette, but that’s alright, now that you’re here I just remembered you asking me what my story was.’
Yes, everyone we meet has a story and I wanted to know your story.
I lied to you.
I know.
Wait, if you know I lied, why didn’t you call me out on it?
I asked you what your story was and you told me what you wished it wasn’t and with time everything you did proved that you were running away from the truth within you- it was and still is your journey to make, and didn’t you lose me along the way too?
Yeah, what if I told you that losing you was the best thing that ever happened to me?
I shrug and attempt a smile,but my tears travel faster than my lips, so they grace my cheeks before my lips show up. How come? I ask.
You take one long drag and put out your cigarette before looking back at me, and in that gentle voice you say, ‘Well, the version of me that wanted you at that time was not worthy of you, he wasn’t even worthy of me, and losing you…Love, losing you hurt like my guys thought I was foolish, they gave me hell, but deep down I was glad you walked away because if you’d have stayed hoping that I was gong to get better, I would have broken you and that would have killed me.’
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Word has it that…
Did you hear what’s been going around?
No, should I?
Well, you wouldn’t believe it if I told you, but word has it that you…
Would you do me a favor?
Please tell your sources to speak louder, I’m too far gone in my quest for a better life to hear their hushed whispers.
Really? You don’t want to know?
No, if it’s about me and it’s worth knowing, then whoever is talking is doing it all wrong.
Tell them to put me on blast…have I made it into International Broadcasting Media Houses?
No, but…listen, you…
No, you listen…it’s gotta be louder and clearer, said with utmost conviction for it to reach me, okay?
Photo courtesy of Wherbson Rodrigues: http://www.pexels.com
nilichoandika 