Stories I never Tell…

A light touch. Her smile, I wish.
A soft voice.Her thoughts. I wonder.
A faint skin rub. A soft touch.

Linger. Longer. Lead.

Adequate, her features. Neither harsh nor feeble.
Adequate her tone. Neither commanding nor demanding.
She waltzes her way into my dreams.
Yet, errs at the rim.

Linger. Longer. Lead.

Her thoughts? I’d pay to own.
Her hand? I’d kill to touch. Soft firm heaven.
A piece of blessed flesh.

How does she look when the lights are out?
What does she whisper when her voice is low?
What do her hands say?
What does her body scream?

Who does she want to be?
Who does she want to be with?
Who can’t she be without?

The thoughts. Questions. Puzzles.
Dreaded answers and ghostly futures.
Answers only she knows. Yet…my mind…

Linger. Longer. Lead.

Her face lingers in my lids.
Her touch feels longer when I’m alone.
Her voice leads my heart.

Linger. Longer. Lead.

Stories you’ll never know.
Stories I never tell.
Stories you shouldn’t know.

Behind Closed Doors

A smile, is what I give you.
My tears you never see.

A kiss is what you feel too.
My lips at night they weep.

I long to connect.
For our souls to resonate.
For our hearts to sing.
And our love to bloom.

I long to detect.
Your moods and caprices.
So that miles away.
I soothe you at bay.

In truth, I cannot.

I wasn’t born this way.
The way you want me.
You want me to not be.
Not be the true me.
The true me is angry.
Angry at the banality of reality.
Reality smashes at a certain age.
The age of maturity or recognition.
Recognition at 15 , 26 or 40.
That life choices have consequences.
That life’s consequences could be a meal -or death.
The death of freedom, the death of choice.
Choices harder to make as time swims by.
Time the relentless ref.

I cannot give you that which you seek.
Your fight with me is lost in advance.
Take me for me or let me be.
Fight me and you will eventually flee.

I am one of them. The tale tellers. The observers.
We relish in the beauty of others’ dreams fulfilled.

Our dream is to narrate their dreams.
Our purpose, to document their purpose.

We are the observers. Our lives are meant as a passage. A mirror to existence.
My sacrifice is to edify. To express beauty and narrate excellence.

I cannot be tamed. I cannot be owned.

You either share me with the world or let me be.
My loneliness has never left me.
She shares my bed and my keyboard.
She shares my fears and deep thoughts.

We are dark roommates, bonded by the past and awake in our present.
She sees what you will never see.
She knows what you will never know.

Do not be jealous of her.
Your pain will only breathe more life to her. She fuels me.
You are my respite. My love, you are my respite.
Until she leaves me, you are my respite.

Would you be the last to leave?

“Can I have your number now?”

I wrote this for a short story contest…of course I didn’t win…but I’d like to get your take.

I even smuggled a smile.
She stopped halfway through the heart-shaped biscuit, looked distractedly at the child carrying a tray of “Miondo”. Then she turned towards me.
It was the first time she looked into my eyes. Our random chat on family and old times had drowned the 2-hour wait. The conductor had just announced the departure of my bus and I knew,deep in my right knee,that this was the lady I would spend my life with.
“Give me one good reason.”
I don’t know why my throat went dry. She had grinned at my stupid stories on travel misfortunes but her dimples this time glowed different. They were carved into her sun burnt skin. Her white teeth punctuated by a single brown spot.
I thought my shirt will tear open from the pounding.
“We have known each other since Form 2.We have grown by each other’s side. My mother loves you, your father hates me.”
Another smile.
“He …has his reasons”, I added.
I came closer, surprised myself by taking her farm bruised hands into my sweaty palms. My breath quickened.
“Amina… I don’t know how to tell you what I’m feeling. The only thing I know is; when I come back from the village, I want to be complete and I feel in here, in my heart,that that smile … is the only thing that can make me happy.”
She pulled her hands abruptly. Stood up and straightened her skirt. Then, she walked away.
I prayed for the tray of “Miondo” to crash on my head.
How appropriate-my watch stopped.
14-05-2020 12.15pm.
Then, the sweetest sound on earth:
“So… are you coming to take the number or what?”