THE OGOID WAR (First Cry)

I was lonely for so long, surviving on memories of beautiful days past. I could choose to hate, or like so many, lie, but I looked not with my flesh but with my heart; I loved sincerely and that was my sin, all my reasons to smile turned reasons to brood. It wasn’t her fault, neither was it mine, but as fate would dictate, we weren’t meant for each other. Harmattan came, my bed cold it grew, I had the competence to lie and lure a soul to bed, but I chose to be modest, that’s always been my sin. I looked not with my flesh but my heart, and there alone I lay, under the quilt, pillows in my arms, surviving on memories of beautiful days past.

It was an ogoid war; I nearly gave up on love, but then you came, your heart on a platter of gold. Patience won after all, Angel Gabriel indeed has a sister. I looked not yet with the inner eyes, I couldn’t even count the number of such that breathed in my diaries. But there you were, lips like Scandinavian boats, eyes like a plague, where you were supposed to lift me, drowning me in my own strength, where you were supposed to soothe, seething, and yet leaving me smiling, alive. Was this a joke or was it supposed to be?

Creation began at your feet; history sits in your eyes, wind sings reminiscence and water ceases not to lap at the shore, and… a young boy drags his pants across the pages of blood, love, good and bad times. I beckon every day, seeking to tell my truths, but somewhere in the East, your brows you furrow, indifferently, over diagrams and chemistry. And I know you’re the kind I want, and I know you’re not the kind that wants me, and I know I’ll not let you go, and I know I’ll be let go, but… hasn’t it happened before? Creations ended at her feet, doom sat in her eyes. Eyes like the Kalahari moon, lips like Viking boats, wind sang reminiscence yet a boy dragged his pants across the pages of love, blood, good and bad times.

I know you’re a kind that will never bore me but I know you I will bore. And here the love story begins, the same time it ends. I hold onto your arms, please do not write THE END, and you assure you won’t, but while you pray in English, I pray in Arabic, and hey, look at the pen, it’s writing it on its own! I hardly love, but yours came naturally. It’s sad though, that distance stands between us, and I’m a slave afar, clasped in an oubliette, Tori Kelly peeping. Where do I go from here? Is it a battle I can win? Where do I sharpen my daggers? Will my dreams come true; your hands on my chest, your lips in my ears, saying when love is real, even God bends His rules, I have nothing to be afraid of, you’re mine forever? And then I can close my eyes and sleep, knowing when I wake up, you’ll still be there. And again, I can have another kiss, that day and forever more. Amen! But…

-Lord eBay (and his random ruminations, 2018)
#eStreetWriters

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