Tag Archives: heartbreak

Lost

I have been standing here too long
Counting all that I’ve lost
The love of my life is mute
Ignoring my advances to have her close
Building walls with pillars of my love
Anchoring my love for her on lies
Of her past lover

How many times do I have to call
When I know she won’t pick up?
How many words do I have to speak
To ears blocked with hate
For all beings male?

Does she care what I do?
Does she care what i feel?
Does she care who I spend my time with?
She’s left me in a state of apathy

She cares of nothing about us
what i thought we had
never existed in the first place

I’m back in this room I know too well
Soon the blood shall flow
And the smell will summon them
The hungry mongrels
To grab my heart pieces
like roasted hooves
of a slain lamb

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Nostalgia

I have been sitting here listening to everything in general but nothing in particular; cypher of morning birds, chit-chatter of women downstairs and innocent giggles of babies but none of these has helped me in quelling the inferno inside of me. There’s something missing that I really need to complete this equation, something surreal, something gentle, I can feel the need erupting like a volcano inside the deepest part of me, the feeling of coldness, and the gentle touch of fragile fingers and soft prickles of nails on my back. Restrained appetites to indulge, to swim freely into the seas of mutual satisfaction, I relive every moment we spent with gist of longing. That night wasn’t to be in the first place but it’s the most memorable night I have had in the past two years, the floor was cold, the night was icy, we wrapped ourselves in a duvet but still my teeth rattled. The thought of what would unfold or not unfold got my skin fold in goose bumps.
You held me, I squeezed you. I teased you and you cried. You told me you don’t have good memories of such intimate gestures. I wiped your tears with the back of my hands, vexed that I was cleaning a mess some fucker created but melancholy knows no man, I felt the sexual rush being replaced by a sense of gentleness and vulnerability that I have never felt before any woman, my tears dropped on the tip of your nose and that did nothing to stop yours. You held me closer, tightened the hold and then kissed me deeply like my lips would erase all the misdeeds of the fucker you mistakenly took for a lover. I watched as a night of romance was turning into a bereavement therapy. Even as your eyes flooded with tears and crow’s feet formed beneath them, your beauty was unperturbed; you still shone.
I carried you to your bed and laid you to rest as I questioned the degree of immorality it would be to sleep with an emotionally burdened. Would that be taking advantage of the situation? Yes, we slept but we never sampled fruits of nature until the magic phrase ‘I need you in but am afraid’ surfaced at about 5:30 am. I peeled your clothes, you peeled mine. We were naked and it felt like paradise, naked seemed everything unlike what Adam could want to hide from. We crossed the border. My thoughts are still anchored to the events of that night and for the first time in four good years I feel like I’m missing someone; someone who reminded me what it felt like to be in love again after years of picking pieces of broken heart.

Hearts Ripped In Throes of Passion

Charlie listened to her plans and knew he was in trouble. The pursuit had ended sooner than he expected. His was a cautious heart, still harboring bandages and stitches from a relationship he knew was destined to earthly heavens. It was now that he realized that he didn’t need a woman and all the pursuit he had waged was just under the illusion that she needed a nurse to dress the wounds that were causing him sleepless nights, but wounds of the heart need no dressing. They are to be left to heal on their own for even the hands of angels aren’t soft enough not to leave a bruise on delicate wounds. He was learning that if there was a concoction for healing a wounded heart then a woman wasn’t a part of it. The concoction would be made of three recipes; time, time and time.

“Babe, are you even listening?” Annett prodded.

“Yeah, we’ll have children, we’ll wed and we’ll travel the world on love’s back. What more have you talked about?”

“Babe, don’t be cynical about love, why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like this”, she twitched her lips. She was pissed off.

Here she was, trying to please a man who was too mean to pay her the least attention she needed. Why does it always have to be like this? Finally Charlie was proving to be worse in conversation than Kev she was ditching, but he had it all; all he sought in a man. He was well endowed, got looks to die for and was stable financially. Even if he was incompetent in other aspects, he would be worth the risk.

To Charlie, love was a grand illusion. It was a huge chess board, every player reading the opponent’s mind and hiding their next moves under their sleeves and aha! Their true intentions surface, too late for any defense. Good intentions floored as illicit passions take toll. And then ravens would perch on nearby trees, waiting for the opportune time to come down and feed on the vestiges of hearts spread on rugged earth, hearts ripped in throes of passion.

She was created for others too

I loved sunsets. That is past tense. Ever since you walked out of the door, sunrise and sunset have no difference to me, of what effect is sunshine on a soul so dark without the brightness of your smile? Sure, the sun shines but it was the tilts of your front teeth that reflected the light in right angles to illuminate the darkest corners of my life whenever you smiled.

The sunsets aren’t any better, I stand at the balcony, watching as face of the sun folds in orange wrinkles and all am left with is lethargic feeling, bits of pebbles form in my throat and I choke at my own indulgence in nostalgic thoughts of our past, my waist is yet to forget what it felt like to have your arms around it. Counting birds is no longer a potent therapy to me and the breeze maims my olfactory with your cologne, I don’t know the scent of nature anymore. Echoes of your giggles keep interrupting my meditations, and my mind refrain from focus and tenaciously grip to every detail of the ‘Us’ we were, my meditations turn into fantasies, the silence turns into your whispers, giggles, sobs, hiccups, slithers and muffled moans. I meditate to clearly see my goals, but I see you remove the posts.

I remember we gave each other names, names that were sweet music to our ears, names that assured us that destiny curved a path that only the two of us could tread on. Names that etched love on every corner of my thoughts. But these names now torture me, these names still haunt me. There is nothing more haunting than a name that refuses to die with its bearer, it’s a spirit always hovering, asking questions, pressing charges and worst of all eroding a mind that no space is left for seeds of nothingness to sprout. I want nothing of you. I don’t want to remember you. But how can’t I remember you when everything my eyes latch upon reminds me of you? In the night, I look at the sky, the black canvas that we once drew our love on; the constellations whose beauty we reveled at, the falling stars that serenaded our love every night now mock me. They laugh at the darkness I’ve become. They gossip of how hollow I’ve become ever since you left.

I don’t want to remember you.  The memories of you to me are what a blacksmith’s furnace is to steel, it hurts, it wounds and maims but it curves steel into treasure box sought by royals. I am wondering what your memories are curving me into. I was kind of dyslexic, for how could I fail to read the signs you showed? Most probably you never showed any sign. Ours was a smooth terrain,

Our names spelt love
And the illusion that it was created for us
Barred me from seeing the truth,
The truth; that you were created for others too.