For the Day 4 Prompt, a challenge to describe an abstraction with concrete nouns. Photo by Steve Halama on Unsplash
—
What it is is something smouldering
A tiny reed, slowly taking flame
That perchance with time might
Burst into a raging flame
What it is is a call and response
A place remembered and returned to
In a season of despair
In its light one sees
the self in all its glory
warts and all,
and learns the painful truth
that one is human too
Short answer we don’t know… It sure does make us feel good about ourselves though…
Image Credit: Sarah Horrigan, Flickr
The one woman I think I loved most in my recent history didn’t quite like me back that way. I was sure she was The One; I was entranced by how her eyes lit up around children and young people, how easy she was to talk to, and how her voice – soft and mellow yet steely when required – seemed to exude this aura of quiet strength. Even her awkward moments seemed cute, the tilt of her chin when she pretended to not see me across the room and the mumbled words when I could tell she was furiously inventing excuses to not meet up.
When she managed to find time for me in her chock-full social calendar, we would sit across a table at Starbucks – pair of matching lattes and carrot cake to hand – and catch up about everything; life, work and the myriad in between. I was in awe of how much about everything she knew, how we could talk ceaselessly about everything from art to the latest hole in the wall around town, and travelling. These times would make hope sprout anew in my heart – there was something there beyond mere politeness I felt.
Thoughts of her fuelled sleepless nights, ones in which I played various what ifs and maybes in my head, trying to find a context in which what she had said – when she managed to articulate it – meant something less ominous than what in all probability she had meant to say any way.
I could see the pity in my friend O’s eyes when he and I spoke, at the pining obvious in my eyes and the – his words not mine- softness that crept into my voice when I spoke about her. Somehow for all of two years I managed to hope against hope that somehow she would see my inner coolness – rust and all – and get to experience all this love bottled up in inside.
I suspect part of me didn’t want to accept the implicit rejection. In choosing to risk rejection I had invested a significant part of my emotional reserve in the venture, having it thrown back in my face wasn’t necessarily an option – which was why I probably persisted beyond reason. In the end though, one can only take so many bashings before self doubt and pragmatism wears one down.
I think I reached that point yesterday… And I finally decided letting go and loosing couldn’t be much worse than the torture I’d dragged myself through for all of 2 years and some.
So…. If anyone knows how to get someone who has been lodged inside your head for all of 2 years, 19 days and 4 hours out, pray tell… Answers on a postcard pretty please…
On the biology of love (amongst a ton of other fascinating stuff), and the three brain systems that evolve from our human experience of mating and reproduction – lust, romantic love and (long term) attachment.
Does it pop and fizz,
And crackle like a log flame
Entrancing the mind?
Does it arrive like
Dawn, sweep away the dark night
Promise a new start?
Does it intoxicate
Like the aroma of sweet wine,
Bringing delirious Joy?
Or is it there in the
Quietness of steady habits
Neither loud nor brash?
Oh that some sage could tell.
[Pixshark]
I have your name etched
on my skin, its lines and curves
and slants edged in rich, deep black.
I carry your face
in my memory, nestled
like a flash of bright white light
saves the sameness of a
dark spring night.
Your name is a call
and echo, one that I murmur
like the repeating melody
of a descant; the twang of
a bow’s string reverberating
in the stillness of the valley air,
the thud of an arrow steered unerringly
as it rips into a doe’s ribcage.
Between here and there is a
road to nowhere, to build they say
one must first tear down,
For life, a Dying first.
—
For the NaPoWriMo Day 4 prompt; a poem about Love or Lovelessness that doesn’t include the word LOVE itself.
My interest in Def Poetry in the past has been limited to Bassey Ikpi. Thanks to a friend, I got forwarded a link to this video by Shihan.. My def poetry love just went up a notch… Found the full text here. Enjoy.
I have been wondering if people still ‘fall’ in love? Can a guy and a girl meet, develop sparks from the get go and experience a connection like none other? Me the cynic is convinced it is all about doing the sums, weighing the pros and the cons, and deciding what ‘makes sense’ – not some visceral, emotional reaction. I wish I knew though, I really want to be swept off my feet by someone, be blown away by an emotional connection…. Somehow I know that will never be me, I will remain Me, the cynical pragmatist…
BG called me today. There is clearly a drifting apart here. The bulk of her talk was based on the rash of people who’ve ended relationships in the last few weeks, including a number of close mutual friends. My cousin Ella thinks there are self esteem issues involved here and that I needed to reassure her of my 100% commitment.
She and I are drifting apart… I just know.. Sigh.. 😦
A Geek's Life 