LOVE LOST IN THE MIST (PEELING THE LAYERS)

(A MIRAGE)

Some years back there was this girl who had a mad crush on me, everyone knew it, I too saw and knew it. She was beautiful, drop dead gorgeous, sharp looks I can't deny, a little bit of sophistication here and there, good taste and a sprinkle of class. I must admit that at one point I seriously took note of her too and developed quite an interest. Interest enough to try reaching out but at every point I was met with silly obstacles. Unreal things that even a completely blind eye could see, fake-ness so pronounced that even a bewitched mind could pick out.

I naturally loath making phone calls but can write a million words in a day, blame it on me, blame it on my poor phone call manners and my addiction to the written. Anyway, I approached the damsel and established contact, asked her if I could text to say hi or just check on how she was doing on the other side of the world from time to time. When she told me, "I don't do texts," I folded my tail between my slim legs like a scared dog that has passed through a treatment of the funeral catering service providers, ate humble pie and graciously walked away.

But, that is not actually the real reason why I walked away, the real reason lies in the fakeness I saw in the act, the trying to be something that is not that was glaringly apparent in the statement, maybe I would have called if I had seen a tiny morsel of real-ness rather than a person trying so hard to be something else to impress, I never called. Later in life those calls came from the other side of the phone line but my train by then had long left the station, real-ness had swept me off my feet and tied me to her, my soul was at rest and seeds of love had by then become beautiful scented flowers waiting to bring forth sweet fruits - the fruits have indeed come in folds over the years but that is a story for another day.

Back to my crush, it hit me that if maybe she didn't do texts she would be a tech savvy sophist so I asked her what she calls herself on Facebook for starters, I did ask because on Facebook and over the social media as you commonly know, even people you know have names you have never heard of and photos you can't recognize. My sole intention then had been expressly to initiate conversation there but then again the answer came, "I am sorry I don't do Facebook." Again I saw the fakeness as I backed down, I knew she did that Facebook and maybe more.

I went quiet for a while and when I saw her again with her classy touch screen phone, I again asked her, are you on WhatsApp? The reply came, "I don't do WhatsApp dear" as her well manicured slim fingers caressed the phone screen, never mind I was operating a stone age Mosaic era stone tablet by then, very efficient with the battery, network and as a source of light when thieves appear. How I miss my mulika mwizi.
I remember then telling myself loudly inside my head, "Oh! Oh! here we go again."

Alas and behold! It did not take even two years after that and there, I had a Facebook friend request from the very one who never did Facebook, her names were of cause not the ones I know but at least her photos were.

As we go back to the studio for a short commercial break, I need to report to you  that we have ocassionaly chatted on WhatsApp from time to time and exchanged texts here and there.

I must admit that at times, I have been so tempted by this strong urge, sometimes I have felt a strong urge akin to someone hard pressed by a full bladder of urine to ask her, "how come you do these very things?" I have however kept my cool, it is called the art of keeping lanes.

Along to journey, somewhere along this station, my train left the station a long time ago and arrived at a different destination where true love attracted me, drew me, and like a moth to the light, I flew, arrived and has ever since been bewitched and imprisoned by the warm light of a real loves afterglow. The difference of being just real all through is fulfilling beyond compare and the need to act the part is none existent.

In the epilogue, someone came back when I had already been taken, the empty seats that existed by then are totally occupied and not even the walkway between the seats is empty. Furthermore, I have never seen her again through the very eyes I used to see her with, those brown eyes of the poet were taken by someone else who has  been with me in this same train savouring the scenic beauties of our journey together as we travel along. Though she keeps seeing me, roadblocks, barriers and appropriate signs have I erected in place that define clearly the boundaries and where trespass cannot be allowed but is bound to be prosecuted spelt out clearly too.

As we get back on air, my home is firmly settled in this new train I have been in with this real queen with fairies long dead and gone. I am totally at peace and living a full life but most importantly, all that is here is real, the good, the bad and the ugly, the perfection and flaws. And that is what love is, naked abandon.

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A NOTE TO NYAKANO

Dear Jaber,

It's long since daddy said something to you,
But he has been saying a million things within him,
Even with just  the thought of you.
So in a twisted way these very thoughts refused
to be  a soliloquy inside daddy.

You radiate the sun itself,
You replicate the beauty of a full moon
on a clear night sky at Sidho in the vast Kano plains.
You remind me of stars on such a night,
and the stars remind me of your mother.
Memories, dreams, wishes, instances,
events and moments intertwined.

Nyar Yimbo,
You are the reason why the sky is blue,
I swear it's true for I see it when I look at you.
Dark clouds on my horizon,
they melt like ice somewhere in Lokichar
or magadi to total oblivion -
even just with the thought of you.

You are the reason why the earth spins on it's axis,
I mean it when I speak this.
I am trying to remember what life was
or rather how it was before you happened,
Before you appeared and took over every nook and cranny
 of my atmosphere.
What seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks , months and years
were before you appeared,
I swear I am blank like a plain printing paper.
The data must have been erased for all I remember,
is life after you came.
The past is a mist, a collection of empty spaces.

Yours Forever
The Poet

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