The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance...
our long way home.
I was always yours to have.
You were always mine.
We have loved each other in and out of time.
When the first stone looked up at the blazing sun
and the first tree struggled up from the forest floor
I had always loved you more.
You freed your braids...
gave your hair to the breeze.
It hummed like a hive of honey bees.
I reached in the mass for the sweet honey comb there....
Mmmm...God how I love your hair.
You saw me bludgeoned by circumstance.
Lost, injured, hurt by chance.
I screamed to the heavens....loudly screamed....
Trying to change our nightmares to dreams...
The sun has come.
The mist has gone.
We see in the distance our long way home.
I was always yours to have.
You were always mine.
We have loved each other in and out
in and out
in and out
of time.
by Maya Angelou
It is what spices up life. Yet, when we seek it, it is never there. We impose our definition of it when we do find it & in one swift motion kill its purpose.Our trials and tribulations mold our view of love. I started off rejecting the notion of love, progressed to embodying it and finally like everything in life I ended up where I started. Love trancedes gender, race, religion, tribe and everything in between. Love is universal and it is this trait that makes it a scarce commodity. It sends shivers up your spine and in the same instant it can bloody your nose or worse break the very organ that beats its rhythm. The rhythm that resounds and is amplified by the weakness in my knees, my tummy doing the cartwheels and the inevitable rush of blood to my loins. 'Tis a bittersweet fruit this love but I am entraced by it. It weaves a web around my writhing body as I try to escape. Leave me be, I yell. This ride is not yet begun comes the swift answer as the beating of my heart increases twicefold. I twist and turn, look south and north but never at the object of my frustration or should I say desire. The clock chimes the witching hour and I cringe for time is a bitch to chase. Must be due to the two xtra hands it possess. I got you NOW, as I manuever into a more comfortable position. I look up and gasp, for the image I see is me alone, haggard and alone. All this time I was running away from myself and time wasn't even a factor.
2 comments:
Well, SD, I thought it was going beautiful till your turned up hagard and alone. They say love (true love between a child and mother) is the dance of life. The way their attachments (emotional and otherwise) adjust to each others' move and continue to do so for the rest of their lives. On other kinds of love, there is no easy way around it. It builts you and it breaks you.So it is best to keep a good heart at both occassions-while concentrating on its good times and ensuring to endure that good feeling they call love.
Lastly, there is a different kind of loving that is altogether had to recognize- this is loving the idea of someone you haven't yet met. Or even meeting someone and having a feeling that whoever you were meant to meet with as a 'soul-mate' would look, talk and behave like that person you met. This a weary situation to be in and the only way out is to start demolishing the stereopes you have developed about the perfect partner and conceed that he/she could be totally different as i imagined them to be. This acceptance allows the heart to have more options as it were.
PS: Find a good conversationist to talk to about how you feel. It maybe just what you need now :).
Interesting way of looking at my commentary. I don't remember my mindset at the time when I wrote the piece except the fact that the words found themselves where they are. Maya begun and ended her poem with the concept of time and I chose to view time in respect to how somali females see it.
Lmao @ I need a conversationalist to talk to. You mean a therapist? :)
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