being loved

I knew love once, when there were no description to complete trust. He came to me as words written on hand made paper, written in red blood. I knew him more when night came and nature was nurtured by the dark sky which covered Earth after sunrise. I knew news of him about the red clothed Cupid shot young hearts.

Till I really knew Him pure, without any Earthly element derailing my knowledge of Him. He knew me before conception, He knew me whilst I took the first breaths which brought me closer to dying in my mother’s womb. He made me limb by limb, bone by bone, nerve and vein, organs and all. I knew Him.

He sends me to sleep to the sound of His heroic life, His triumph over temptations, His miracles when He was human to enable mankind to believe His presence. I read all about him in a book known by all. Today, I knew that I knew Him. Long before, through my life long battle which I survived, my near to death experiences. He loved me: happy, angry, hopeful, sad, he loved me. Confused, comforting me, He loved me. Love, loved me, still does, more than anything or anyone can imagine He loves me. I know that, how? Because he has been love all along…

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a writer’s dream

1. The sound of paper woke me up in the middle of the night.

2. The pillow next to me had a pen on it and the pen stared at me.

3. Just when I was about to document my dream, my cell phone rang.

4. Instead of answering, I let the ring tone go on a little, then I picked it up and the person on the other line had lost patience.

5. I went to the kitchen to get some water. The silhouette of the dancing trees outside the window scared me a little. It was as if there were people out there.

6. When I took a glass from the cupboard, I had a feeling someone was behind me so I lit up the kitchen and no one was there, the dancing leaves were gone.

7. There was a movie playing in the lounge, and just then I remembered the dream. I did not watch it.

8. Water in hand, I drank from the glass. Even in darkness I could see its clarity. It sparkled, I thought.

9. The mirror reflected me as I looked at the pen and paper. Just then I wrote a poem on “reflection”

10. The phone rang again and this time, I answered it. No one spoke at the other line. I started to think about stuff like dead relatives but I never returned the call.

11. I wrote about the dream finally and then I heard voices coming from the lounge. I went there with expectations of robbers then to my surprise it was the movie playing. So I switched it off.

12. Maybe I was suppose to be scared but I wasn’t. Till I woke up and there were no paper, pens. I was dreaming of a dream.

13. So this is the dream I just shared. Meaning?

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written wednesday wounds

I have tasted acid. It corroded my flesh and exposed me to the world. It came in a fancy liquid which blinded me. I wouldn’t have taken it if I knew. It is not something new: displacing reality. It was not the case of mistaken identity nor the scenario of judging a book by the cover just a thoughtless decision.

The tip of my tongue moved and created a word I likely used. It came to me so fast my mind could not stop its last transmission and so it was relayed so fast. I thought wrong and said it wrong. Said it unexpectedly, painfully. Rejection came quick, rescuing me from further embarrassment. And it tasted like acid. Consuming me in front of him. My heart became ashes. That is how it felt. Loving him, him loving her, her loving another and me not loved by him.

“You don’t say ‘I love you’ anyhow to anyone anywhere. Even to crushes which literally have a part of you for years. Because they know. They might look good with their tower heights and one of a kind eyes. You don’t say it! Till they say it first or they never say it then you secretly die with such feelings or they eventually go away”, his reply.

Luckily for her it rained that fateful day. Her tears were never seen but the tears in her heart never healed…

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photographic past

Trapped faces
behind glass panes
Smiles fading
Eyes searching
The wall holds them back!
Some have found place on tables
Mounted and never moved…
They are dusted off sometimes
Seen but most of the time
They have become decor
Rather than captured memories
Rarely remembered memories

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hunger for love

The metal plates made too much noise and their scars spoke. In hunger, we stood. Waiting for food, for comfort, for life. Amongst the hatred we found our place. Found love…

We live in these streets, alone yet together. Clothed with forgiveness, void of anger. Nothing can break our ties nor poison us with lies. We have become family. Lately, we see your kind walk past by. Without knowledge of us being human, maybe our lack of hygiene wiped us clean.

We remember the metal plates, clean, old, broken, used. From them we used to eat. Now we stand by and beg. Even dogs are better than us. In your eyes, we have become less human. Have no emotions whatsoever. Please amidst all this, recognize our humanity. Breathing, seeing, feeling, dealing, seeking healing wanting meaning. Needing love, food.

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