For you birthday, I decided to do something different. Leave some graffiti on your wall in form of a poem. Today you are older. You are wiser and smarter. Yesterday you were all these things but a little less. Embrace the growth that comes with each day. As you take onto another year, cherish the abundance of life’s simplicity. Take a train, take a matatu ride, take a ballon ride, take a tuk tuk, take a chance and then take a risk. Like the rocky motion of travel is life, necessary for any journey we take. Challenging, sometimes spicy and enchanting. Be ready to be challenged. Cherish simple networks and friendships, ignited by chance sometimes they start a spark that shines brighter and longer than we expected. Thanks for being a great friend and I wish you well today and always.
It doesn’t matter that it’s raining today. Inside my heart you always reign and just your sight brings me sunshine. We can cuddle under the duvet and watch the raindrops paint our window gibberish till our names somewhat reflect there. Because the mood is liquorish, we can eat up some liquorice chocolates then sip on some whiskey. Drunk in love like Jay and Bey, we can walk to the beach and make the night count. Like it’s the last day to feel the ground, we can make a castle and then draw our names in the sand. We can be reminded that like the sun rises and must set is life; as brief as our footsteps in the sand last.
It doesn’t matter that the phone is ringing. Inside my heart only thing worth picking is you, only habit not worth kicking is you. Even without calling me, I reckon that you are thinking of me. And like telepathy, I can’t stop thinking of you. Let’s get on this love train and never stop. Let’s go sight-seeing and visit the world. Let’s enjoy the rocky motion, as we rise and fall in love. Let’s allow this emotion to be the captain till we reach our destination. Let’s cherish our relations like it’s the first day. Let’s take it to the parish on the last day of this trip and make it official that we want to be uncovered.
BONUS: You might like this post’s prelude Sentimentally Un-covered
Like warm cotton, our hearts basked in the glory of sunshine. But suddenly darkness struck, and our lives were on the line. There was no time to cover our cloth, the rain caught on as fast at the storm. And to dry again, and feel as good on our skin is difficult for the cloth – now wet and tattered. Putting together the pieces and wringing out the water is a task too daunting, daring and haunting. But from a far, the horizon is promising to open up memories. We must remember how it felt to be happy. We must remember how it felt to love. We must remember what it means to find closure. We must remember the good time; that brought us here. That little light opening in the dark skies is the reason why, our once prestigious cloth, now torn – can be mended. We are hurt. We are confused. We are clueless. We are in great loss. But what’s greater is our collective strength and art. That can help remake our cloth a new.
BONUS: A tribute to everyone we lost at the Westgate Mall Terrorist Attack (Kenya) and those who were left hurt, physically and emotionally.
We are like an interlude to a song, not too long or too short – just enough, but not a song. We are like electricity, necessary for lighting up the fire within but therein are too many wires we couldn’t fix, even if we wanted. We boast to both be technicians but we are haunted, there isn’t anything we can mend, and all that is left is our dreams in technicolour. We have not one distinct colour but resemble a rainbow, beautiful and eclectic yet eccentric. Like the break of dawn, we are a mix between dark and light – never really one – lovelorn; together but lone, we are love clowns. But this isn’t comedy because how you make me feel is remedy to everything. Despite our nuance and our nuisance, nothing matters. We don’t care that we are wasting time. We don’t care that we are like a ship sailing way off course. We don’t care that we’ve spun over and over again. We don’t care that we lost it; we only care that we love it, and the spur it gives.
I adore you. Because you are like a special revolving door, and every time I swing through, there’s something good inside of you. Though far away, you inspire me to dream. You inspire me to be loved. You inspire me to spread my wings to fly. You made me believe that my eyes are beautiful. Your love knows no boundaries. Thank you.
Can’t help but wonder why, like a paper being blown away by the wind, you are elusive. And why, I am like a foolish child constantly chasing after you, innocently thinking I will catch you. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I will. Maybe the wind will blow you upwards towards me, and with my grasp I could clasp your hands into mine and feel why I kept running for you. Maybe then I can start learning how to read the writings on you before the weather damages everything. Maybe then I can write on you a thing or two and our words may one day inspire other paper chasers never to give up.
For as long as it rains, can’t stop loving you. Tell it not to drop and I will unchain myself from your reigns. But because you don’t have that kind of power, were stuck together like the half and half of an hour-glass– feeling on each other as we fill each side we fall or rise with the sands of our time. Your words alone bring me back to life. Mine remind you of the kind of woman to wife and even though we’re apart; we’ll never give up in that which we share.
You are like a window pane, and your nuance glimpsing at me from the outside. To you, the inside looks good but you don’t dare come in to feel the pleasure and pain that I want to share with you. You don’t care to layer the inside of my olden house with new bricks or paint but you dare to rest in my comfort. You don’t care to augment your game with new tricks but lay there waiting on me like I am pro and you are a novice. In the real sense, you are alone at your test of me; my space is always at its best though jaded. No room for doubt or failure, I will renovate my house. Like curtains we are drawn together by the warmth of the night but will forever be apart in daylight. Like a sightless butterfly, I am not free but bound by the chains of my cocoon. If I set myself free I am afraid of the uncertainties of tomorrow but if I don’t am chained by the insincerity of today and yesterday. But I have no choice but to be me and thankful for the warmth of our drapes provide. Even though temporary.
Is this real for you? Because the more I keep running from you, the more I keep hiding from the truth. That we are professional heart breakers and menders; who swim in motion with our emotions but fail to dive deep into their oceans. We are like a freeway—express and free. But like opposing lanes, we never meet despite the proximity that we are right beside each other. That makes me wonder whether there’s a possibility that we truly never existed and if we indeed existed at all, what did we have? That makes me insist on knowing, next time, if we are real or maybe just another passage off some olden story. For the more you pull me towards you, the more its a bother as your rope loosens and makes me weak throughout the journey. For many weeks, we were like a beautiful morning; started out bright and optimistic. Then by the end of the day, we were torn, weary and lonely. And if you had let me be, you would have remembered that I was good at the trade. But you were better at breaking my creations, making me guilty for the way you had my castle crumbling.
The hall in which they learn is a makeshift. But as soon as the lesson begins, we shift from the slum to a place of poise and grace. Their moves in their dusty cute little pink tutus aren’t hasty but calculated. And their faces glow like the imaginary stars and flowers they are ‘picking’ in the dance. Almost immediately I know, certainly, that theirs is a bright future to be yielded, a bright torch to be carried forth to the world. Tip-toeing; the girls lead with zeal while the boys try to keep up on their heels. It’s a clear show of longing to amaze and excel and find freedom, through dance. Class only lasts a few hours: happiness for most of them and to others; the safest haven. What a burst of inspiration for my heart to handle from the most unexpected quarters.