Art is the voice of Nature, history is her tale, poetry is her song, politics is her game, theatre is her humour, love is her silence, for love, when spoken by Nature is always very quiet, unless it gets out of hand and deafens our ears, making Nature a miserable banshee. Happiness is the prize Nature gives to whoever unquestioningly understands her. Sorrow is the spell Nature casts, on anyone who is blind to Nature’s being Nature. Science is an enemy of Nature, although he is her fifth child, destroys Nature and all she holds dear. And Nature has known from the outset, consequently, there she is, crying over cities and they call it flooding; sobbing, they call it earthquake; angry, they call it volcano; and whimpering, they call it hurricane. Happiness, although Nature’s reward, doesn’t live with magnifiers of nature’s voice, unfortunately. Who should Nature reward mostly if not her artists for Art’s sake? I’m beginning to nurse contempt towards Nature.
A woman has always played a violin beside my house, next block to my left, separated by a brick fence. She has two children and no husband, at least, none that I’ve seen visited. The music from her violin always jolt me out of bed earlier than I’d love to rise in the morning, and I’ve prayed she gets driven out of that house for somewhere else, so that I could have my peace. But brethren, I got expelled recently from a plantation that has been mine for two years, and I was afraid this expulsion was not going to be revoked and all my time and resources have gone into waste, I sat at the edge of my bed and cradled my head in my trembling hands. I was like this for God-knows-how-long, and suddenly, to my own surprise, my heart began to pump blood steadily again and my body attained its normal calmness. My worries suddenly vanished and I began to ask why. No, you guessed wrong, it was my neighbour’s music. It had lulled me to the acceptability of my fall and implanted in me a fresh willingness to start again. I soared off the bed and to the staircase I ran to walk up the steps to our balcony from where I could look directly unto the woman’s porch. She was there, at the door, seated on a stool, doing her thing. Slowly, as I studied her, I began to understand her. She was an artist, magnifier of Nature’s voice, an artist in pain. She was lonely but full of dreams. She was ambitious but incarcerated by God-knows-what. And she was angry, thereby taking it out on her musical instrument everyday; her music was eloquent enough to get all that message. A talent in the wilderness, a world-class player in the slum. I saw tears ran down her face like a waterfall as she played in subtle fury, hands going and coming, body swaying, eyes closed. I sighed so heavily I almost breathed out my lungs. I began to cry too. Poets, singers, comedians, actors, actresses and all other artists and artistes want to make the world a better place. We write to encourage, we act to amuse and sing to soothe, but it is only little we’re able to do about the topic of our own amusement and happiness. Most of the writers whose love stories were tagged the best ones never experienced true love themselves. The most hilariously funny of all comedians are the privately saddest. Celebrated paintings and artworks of Michelangelo, Picasso, Bernini, Leonardo DaVinci, Goethe and others were not done/painted out of brightly coloured face, full of smile, but rather out of frowned faces, bleeding hands, eternally patient mind and laugh-less souls. Unless most of us find content in what we do, we always die unsatisfied ’cause we’re always dreaming and the object of desire in our dreams is not always attained for our dreams are crazy dreams, not to us though. Some of us who find what we want cannot get it for we usually cannot afford to.
I dated a girl back in 2006 when I went to write an exam in a village, I tell you, I could be naive though, that was my most original experience of mutually shared love. The girl was so beautiful I could almost dissolve into her face. Her voice, her physique, her choice of words, her manners and all about her were just too angelic for any man to fully understand in a lifetime. When she kissed me, I swear by my ink, I almost fell asleep. Damn it, it lulled me! I felt like I was drinking milk directly from the springs of paradise. But there are always negative forces in every love story, aren’t there? The negative force in mine was religion. For the fact that Moshood is my first name pissed her friends off, and they got to her at the end. Religion robbed me of that great experience, of the best kisser I’ve ever met in my lifetime, and when I saw her again in 2010, poor me, she did not even recognize me again and I decided not to remind her; I was just a paragraph in a history of her love life and I accepted the torturous truth with an open heart. That story is not strange to many of us too; majority of us have been in the shoes. Unless you’re too rich to be turned away by the bride’s family, religion will always dictate your choice of wife.
I was lost in thoughts, and when my neurons sensitized me that the music had stopped, my eyes came alive again and I found her looking at me. We looked at each other for nothing lesser than two minutes and looked away we did not. We were both artists, we understood very well what either of us was thinking. We knew, like everybody else that we are just looking for someone to look into our faces and tell us that we’re gorgeous, we’re loved. We’re just looking for someone to appreciate who we are and publicly admit that we’re their everything; someone who deserves us. Most of us, unfortunately, end up with partners who’ll not even kiss or let us kiss them, who’ll not grease our engines out of passion but rather out of need. Some of us though, we have insatiable expectations and thusly end up isolated, single, divorced, intolerable or too introverted to mingle with the swimming fishes. I ended the melodrama when I whizzed out of her sight and stamped through the case, back into my room, shrieking over the guilt that I just fell in love with a married woman and I won’t be able to hide the feelings forever. Why haven’t I listened to her music all this while? I guess it’s because I’ve been happy all the while, and happiness although Nature’s gift, is a blindfold that will not let any man see more than his physical eyes are capable of seeing. Happiness is a great spice of life, it lengthens life span and promotes health, but all the people we call celebrities in the creative face of life are only full of laughter on the face but furrows in the heart. History is bloody, tears are its ink, sorrow is its twist, sadness is its turn, hypocrisy is its suspense, lies are its spices and happiness? Well, it’s the villain. Ta ta.
©Lord eBay (and his random ruminations, 2016)