When she can’t be strong for another,
who becomes the rock for her?
Can she find a friend in a heartbeat,
or leave with naught beneath her feet?
Will she be relic of a past milked, forgotten,
stripped of honor, beaten
Or be bathed in mercy, grace, charity,
the cloak of favor and humanity?
Compassion lives, yet she hangs by a thread,
when the flame of love now ceases to be fed.
The past is a foreign country
No boundaries
Except my own limitations
No passport required
Adventures take me to places
Of delights and darkness
Each night I travel
To yet another country
The future was just a dream
Of existence
Travelling distances
Of time and space
People I meet along the way
Some just pass by
Others stay a while and walk
With me, sharing my time there
Some sadly depart,
Our souls entwined
For but a moment,
Lingering, living, laughing,
Until the time comes to depart,
The last kiss,
The last touch,
The last smile.
I hope our paths will cross
Again in the future.
Postcard memories I hold
Within my heart,
At times I take them out
And ponder them,
I can never go back
To those foreign lands,
Some best forgotten,
Best left behind,
Always moving forward,
Never back
I’m a foreigner speaking a language
Of emotion and sentiment,
Of pain and anguish,
Of desires and disappointments.
Have I seen you along the way?
Have I yet to meet you?
Are you here with me now?
Walk with me, let’s chat a while
And share postcards,
Stay with me
And let’s travel together
In this foreign country of ours.
Immortality is one subject I don’t like to discuss because people understand it differently.
However, I’m certain, that that moment when the one person who is the princess/prince of your dreams first smiles at you and introduces themselves to you – that moment is truly unforgettable. 😇😍💖💗
This is captured in today’s poem by my friend Iheanyi Idimogu.
Iheanyi is a Lagos – based lawyer. He loves to write. I’m seeing here, too, that he’s quite the incurable romantic. ☺
Enjoy.
Immortal
When the last page is done
and the great Book closed
men shall sigh and recount histories
Kings that held the breath of men
and queens who sauntered in beauty
of artistes that immortalized lives
and viziers swaying between the lines of genius and madness
Somewhere without the gild of these marbles
a line or none may tell of you
and another or none for me
But cast in purest beauty
is the hour you smiled at me
and told me who you were
This skin that you bare
Speaks thousands to me
Your gait’s so enchanting
Too good to be true
Too good is your charm
My alarm has set off
What if you’re not mine?
And for you I’m sport
What if we were never
For each other meant?
And that dreaded day comes
When you shed your skin
The real “you,” you make known
To my own dismay
And of my own misery
You drink to your fill
So ‘ere you get comfortable
In your very own skin
Just know I won’t let you
Get under my skin
Her eyes brushed through each delicate finger on her left hand and settled on the ring finger. It was clad in the most beautiful adornment she had ever seen. She smiled. How unbelievable can life get?
On this day last year, she was broke, jobless, deserted and distraught. She had missed her flight to a job interview, hence lost the chance of a lifetime. The love of her life had eloped with his cousin, three days to their wedding. And her mother had a stroke shortly thereafter.
The man who was now shaving in the bathroom of their hotel room had spotted her at the hospital, while she cared for her mother. He wouldn’t rest on his oars until she agreed to be his wife, immediately conferring her with the erstwhile vacant position of vice-chairman in his group of farms.
The bathroom door opened and she turned. “Good morning, chérie,” he beamed. She smiled again, walked towards him and wrapped him with the warmest embrace. “Bonjour chéri.”
She was happy. True, she didn’t know what the future would bring and yes, she had been to the abyss and back but she knew that between missed opportunities and better outcomes, there was hope and despair, calm and disquiet, soreness and wellness, tears and laughter. There was penury, want, loneliness. There was harsh reality. And then, there was life!
Significance, or lack of it
Does it matter if you take me for granted?
Distraction, a shift in priorities
That’s how I know if and what I matter
In this game of relevance
You and I both understand it’s a question of materiality
The distinction between substance and mirage
The honesty to admit our lack of innocence
Rousing in the morning
Just when the day is dawning
Stretching out and yawning
Alarm clock clearly warning!
Gobbling up a muffin
Gulping lots of coffee
Popping in a toffee
My body simply bluffing
Snapping close my briefcase
Doing up my shoelace
Kissing Cutie goodbye
Awaiting not her reply
These are random memories
Of my city hustles
Not without the bustle
And occasional reveries
Now has come the sunset
With seeds of mighty regret
For Cutie is another’s
Our love has grown asunder
I wrote this song back in the days. 1999 to be exact. Somehow it never left the pages of the old notebook on which it was originally penned. Until now. I hope you like it. Haven’t quite found the music for it.
Just as the stars decorate the skies
On a beautiful, beautiful night
You’ve decorated my life
Lifted it to wonderful, wonderful heights
From what was left of this here Miss Lonely
You picked the pieces back up again
And mended them ever so carefully
Now all the pain is beginning to wane
Take my hands, gentle but sure
Lead me safely to nature’s cure
If there’s any place I want to be
It’s right here, pitching my tent with you
I am not Humpty Dumpty anymore
Not unbreakable but no more broken
‘Cos you, you, you took me away
Away from this place with hurt so rife
I’m happy with who I am
But Ssshhh! Make no assurances
For no one can promise tomorrow
But today is what I gladly have, so please….
…. Take my hands, gentle but sure
Lead me safely to nature’s cure
If there’s any place I want to be
It’s right here, pitching my tent with you
Zika's Musings 