namwano

Bad reaper, Bad reaper Crawled in Unannounced Plucking the unripe fruit Of virtuousness So juvenile, So tender Sweet, To the taste of its tongue But bitter, to my instincts. Stinging, to my eyes, with tears Crushing To my bones. No strength within me So I drop dreary on the surface… thank God, not made of stone. White sheet, immense heat Same moves, different persona Reverse to the bottomless pit of… Square one. No emotion, no reaction No articulation Hence no satisfaction. So this is love ey? Today Jimmy Tomorrow Johnny? True, One says I’m authentic; the other ten narrate I’m Fake I mean how much more can I take? Never once appreciated the genuine affirmation Of optimum caring So I stick to this game… this game called ‘Dead Loving.’    

The evening is streaming in Away from the hustle and bustle of the city I lazily lapse into the silence Under my little cottage Resting my chin in my right hand. I wonder, Oh how I wonder. I question, Though the silence responds, But with vague answers. My toes twitch As my thoughts, dart this way and that. I know who I am I know what I want. Though you say nothing Thus the uneasy state… My uneasy state. What I’m I to believe at this rate? Are you an acquaintance or my real soul mate? This far I have come with you by my side Tell me, Should I let go, or keep walking with pride? Signs of pain Appear on my face If you were anywhere near me You’d know I’m in dire need of Amazing grace That grace that once saved a wretch The kind I feel like now I feel so lost Eager to be found I am blinded By your so called ‘love’ I hope that I

Too many times I have found myself caught up in a fantasy web musing over the kind of guy I would want to have in my life as prince charming. I have taken time out to reflect, write down and cram “My check list for my ideal guy”. So every where I go, I have that list on my finger-tips and when a guy has the guts to approach, I quickly gear my self up with my imaginary slick pen and paper, marking and crossing where necessary while outwardly pretending to be taking pleasure in his company. Some managed to capture my full attention, and when that happened, in the stillness and quietness of the night, before I shut my eyes, I’d retrieve the hand-written copy and physically and intellectually go through it again; marking and crossing out where necessary. If I for some reason felt he had most of the characteristics I desired, then without blinking I’d shut the book, sleep and await for the break of dawn, to probably see what the future may hold. With the many times this has happened,

The devil is such a pro at what he does. He’s tactics? Pretty smart I must say. There’s more to him than just the image everyone portrays him to be; an ugly, black and red guy that sits close by or far away with a long ‘folk’, horns on his head and a tail. (Who came up with that figure, I wonder). You ask how I know; well I journeyed with one of his greatest companions for a moment in time. His name… Fear! This guy…oh…this guy! The memories still fresh in my mind run through in-disoriented. It’s like replaying the story of my former years on big screen. Mr. Fear was sent to me a while back with intentions to bring me close to his master’s self in order to control my every move and have me be like him if not better. I didn’t mind at first. Life had been tough before that and at that moment, I wanted nothing to do with anything and anyone. I only had the following friends; me, my self and I. They knew each other and knew me too. ( Sounds hard to understand but that is what fea