Author: OSIRO NYAR KEPHA

River flowing.

What a sight.

Water meandering.

What a sound.

Trees, aligning the water bank.

 

Relaxing.

Reminiscing.

Nature, what a delightful sight.

Reclining, refreshing.

The stream flows.

 

Feet and toes are malaxing.

Massaging, hydrating.

Fingers and palms are caressing.

Eyes are closing, muscles loosening in bliss relaxing.

 

Unwinding.

Unfolding.

Unravelling.

Deploying.

 

Stretching taut, numb muscles.

Facial muscles.

Emotional muscles.

Heart muscles.

 

Finally freeing me to be me.

Letting go, unchaining me.

Simply me.

Unapologetically me.

 

Here I am.

In my unashamed, unadulterated splendour.

With my weaknesses, strengths, uniqueness.

In my quirkiness, and daffiness.

 

Hello dear me, how are you today?

 

 

She’s down sometimes.

She’s self-conscious.

Always wondering if everyone is staring at her.

 

She sucks in her tummy.

Trying to camouflage the lovely mound that is her lower belly.

Passing by the opaque windows of a building, she gazes at herself.

 

Did I add weight?

Do I look good in these clothes?

She sighs, sucks in her tummy.

 

If only she had a flat belly.

The curves are elegant but the tummy!

If only she had a slim face.

The eyes are lovely but the cheeks!

 

She stares at her face again and sighs.

There’s always a little something that nags at her.

It stands between her and the door.

The entrance to the room called happiness.

 

This little something, crushing her self-esteem.

It’s a grain of sand hurting her.

It irritates, the delicate flesh of her oyster heart.

Little does she know a pearl is developing within her.

 

 

Push, pull, shove.

Push, pull, shove.

On and on it goes.

Each one is trying to gain ground.

Gaining, loosing.

Grasping, grappling.

Holding on, though we’re losing ground.

 

Then it happens.

We are at the edge of the cliff.

None wants to give way, yet one has to, or both lose.

We are at our wit’s end.

Wholly drained for we’ve given our all.

Then why are we here?

Why, oh why do we find ourselves on the brink of destruction?

Our deepest desire was to build something beautiful.

 

Then it dawns on us; we haven’t lost it all yet.

The end of this season is a promise.

The birth of a new season, a new beginning.

It is a matter of viewpoint.

We haven’t lost it all, at the edge of this cliff.

If one gives way, then we are saved.

As one, as a team, we can both slowly move towards each other and turn back to firm ground.

We would then contemplate the beautiful scenery.

Offered by this vantage point at the edge of the cliff.

 

Realising this, we put down our armour, our volition.

The stubborn, prideful, “own sweet way.”

We lay down our arms.

We put on concession, this beautiful robe.

Oh, how lovely when we change perspective.

We now comprehend that it was a raw gem.

An uncut diamond.

We had to reach the edge of the cliff to see how lovely life was.

Yes, a meaningful existence appears when we look through a prism.

The prism of laying down our will.

Oh, love, you do not seek your own, but you see the good in each one of us.

 

Lovely, pretty, comely.

I am.

Am I, do you think?

Lovely, lovable, loving.

I am.

Am I, do you think?

 

Look, do you see me?

I tremble, I mumble, I stumble.

I look forward.

I look down.

I seem coy.

Don’t I?

 

I am cringing.

Shaking.

I am wincing.

Shrinking.

I am flinching.

Shirking.

I am quailing.

 

Do notice me.

Do like me.

I need it.

One shot, please.

To get me through the day.

The spring in my step is fading fast.

 

No longer at ease.

Perturbed.

Ill at ease.

Disturbed.

Uneasy.

Ease away.

Ease up.

 

Troubled.

Distressed.

Troublesome.

Worrying.

Tormented.

Worrisome.

Afflicted.

 

The weight of words.

The spoken, unsaid, unspoken words.

That swell up and take up space.

Shouting shrilly until their deafening din is too much to bear.

 

I waited for your phone call.

You never called.

I waited for your letter.

You never sent it.

I waited for your text message.

You never texted me.

I waited for your email.

You never sent it.

 

I waited for your presence.

Your listening ear.

Your loving presence.

Your kind smile.

Your warm embrace.

Your friendship.

Your understanding nod.

Your companionship.

 

You, oh you dearest friend.

Were you my friend?

Was it a figment of my imagination?

My divagating, thirsty, love-starved heart.

Was I in this all by myself?

Was it only me, all this time?

I wonder.

 

There it was again, lurking beneath the surface.

Waiting for the opportune moment to pounce on me.

I had become complacent in the make-believe zone of “I can handle it, no big deal.”

It had been a mirage, and I was paying dearly for it.

 

My odious opponent, depression is the name, pounced on me and thumped me senseless.

I received an uppercut of “I am ugly” right between my eyes.

A massive straight punch of “I am useless” threw the breath out of me as it landed square on my belly.

The coup de grace fell on my jugular.

I gagged and choked as “no one loves you” suffocated me with an iron grip.

 

Pitter, patter.

Helter-skelter.

Seeking, shelter.

Why unfettered.

Hide in plain sight.

 

Strutting, running.

Struggling, sliding.

Tempest, rolling.

Trench coat, brolly.

Now in plenty.

 

Puddle, skipping.

Muddy sloshes.

Toddlers, laughing.

Children, skipping.

Adults grumbling.

All live and reacting.

 

Heavy veil.

Drops n’ hail.

Taxis hail.

Muddy trail.

Traffic snail.

 

Smiling, nodding, head slightly cocked.

Gaze lowered, hardly resting on any face.

Quickly appraising, gauging, weighing.

Testing the waters, seemingly laid back.

 

Open-minded yet locked up in prejudice.

Subtle double standards, double measures.

Not all pound of flesh is worth its weight in gold.

All are equal, but alas, some are much more equal than others.

 

gauging weighing.

Judging shunning.

Rejecting, demeaning.

Smothering, shattering.

 

It caught me off guard.

The fist landed squarely between my eyes.

I reeled from the shock of impact.

It clobbered me senseless.

I struggled to stay on my feet, barely standing.

 

Before I passed out, I saw it.

The ugly, gloating, bloated, mean face of depression taunting me.

I had lost to it again.

Try as hard as I could; it defeated me.

I couldn’t pry the cold, sharp, merciless claws of self-loath, heaviness, self-pity that were on top of me now.

 

My whole being trembled, shook and ached.

Help! I mouthed, no sound coming out.

With the last dregs of strength, I had left, I yelled.

I wobbled to my knees, weak, worn-out, wary.

As long as I wasn’t laying down, I still had hope, I mumbled.

 

I woke up today and saw it on the news.

I was glad it happened there, far from me.

So ashamed I am of the relief I felt.

So many people had perished there.

 

I woke up today and saw it on the news.

I staggered, shocked I could barely think.

It terrified, horrified, paralysed me.

It happened on my doorstep, right here!

 

I woke up today and saw my reflection in the mirror.

I was listless; a forlorn face gazed back at me.

I heard shouts and wild animated yells.

I almost jumped out of my skin. Where, what? What danger now?

 

I looked and saw they were watching a football match.

Their cries and shouts depicted their joy.

I realized I lived in a bubble shut off from the world.

I mistook shouts of joy for cries of fear and dread.

 

I woke up today and thought to myself.

The world is still a beautiful place.

Despite these dark clouds of horror.

Threatening to smother hope and life.

 

I woke up today and realized I had lost my innocence.

I was no longer naive.

I have morphed, my perception of life has changed.

I now cherish each moment.

 

I blame this and that.

I blame him and her.

I blame you and them.

 

For my bad breaks.

For my deep aches.

For my heart breaks.

 

These high n’ lows.

These dreams that broke.

These fears that torment.

 

There are places you don’t dare go.

Places you don’t dare tread.

Some places are better left unknown.

Places better left unexplored.

 

There are moments when time stands still.

Moments when mine isn’t the will.

Some moments deeply move my core.

Moments that cruelly rip off the mask I wore.

 

Incoherent, jumbled words.

A cocktail, a fruit salad.

Teetering, staggering from the load.

The weight of the confessions they carry.

 

Grateful, deeply moved, for the letter was read.

Time is precious, yours graciously, you offered.

This precious commodity she gobbled.

She drank it up, no drop left.

 

An apology she offers.

For the ungraceful presentation.

Restructure her words she cannot.

The comforting gown of apology is her only recourse.

 

Post scriptum, she adds.

To reassure you, her precious reader is her deep intent.

“Next time, I will be brief.”She promises.

For short and sweet will be the delivery.

 

 

“What have I done wrong?”You asked me.

Many thoughts spiralled into the bottomless abyss of my mind.

“Where to start?”, I wondered.

“What to tell you?”, I pondered

“Would you take it?” I did not know.

I can’t answer your question, just yet.

I am too full, you see.

Full of wrath.

Full of rage.

Full of bitterness.

Full of unresolved issues with you.

So, I would prefer you wondered why I am silent.

Instead of satisfying your curiosity, with my words.

These ever-growing, threatening tsunami of unuttered, unresolved issues between us.

So, you better wait!

 

He’s come back from the watering hole.

By the look of things, the drink must have flowed free and abundant.

Every pore in his body exudes the pungent smell of the precious amber liquid.

Sweet nectar, gushing from the wellspring.

Yes, he drank, profusely and with much gusto.

He seemed to have had more than he could soak in.

He wakes up the next day, parched.

Thirsty, despite drowning himself in this precarious fountain.

He is thirstier than he had been, before arriving at the drinkery.

Without a second thought, he gravitates back to the mirage that beckons him.

Seductive, sublime promises of a tranquil state of quenched thirst.

“This time around, I will belt the drink down.

Then, oh yes! I will be thirsty no more.” He mutters to himself.

He staggers into the yawning, gaping, bottomless watering hole.

The deceitful fountain entices him.

It beckons him with its amber, golden, cold, cruel, empty liquid.

 

 

Why wear yourself out?

Why deny yourself necessary slumber?

Why demean yourself with other’s words?

Why deaden yourself to the gaping need?

 

Need to hold and be held.

Need to behold and be loved.

Need to bestow tenderness and be warmed.

Need to believe and be touched.

 

Touched by the loving embrace.

Touched by the tender gaze.

Touched by the bubbly laughter.

Touched by the open heart.

 

A heart that yearns, longs.

All day long.

To be always strong.

Each day bring.

All sweet songs.

To each time ring.

 

Ring ring ring, this bell.

String string string, these beads.

Strum strum strum, these heartstrings of yours.

 

Cherish, tenderly love.

Only you, the precious other.

 

Lo, behold.

Look and be bold.

Hold on to the cherished one.

When cowardly tendencies, come knocking.

When your heart is aching from cold winds that buffet it.

The cold, barren winds of misunderstanding and unresolved issues.

The sand of bitterness, anger, wrath, and rage

 

Cry groan.

Try frown.

Pry drown.

Sink in this expanse.

This ocean of cold, desolate waters of sorrow and regret that overwhelms.

 

Hold tight.

Crawl slightly.

Tentative attempt.

Tread softly.

Dread most.

Cry pitifully.

 

Hide shamefully.

Wait in despair.

Regret deeply.

Hope in need of repair.

Yearn longingly.

Need tender love.