It is Valentine's night. Everything is quiet and calm on the surface but a tornado of mixed feelings about a day reserved for love brews here... Deep down. What survives when love withers slowly only to catch fire when it's all dry and starved?
Nothing, right? I stand to be corrected by time.
To My Waiting Love...
The past has made me
Adorn a foreign shield to keep
The cupid arrow
From finding my mending heart.
But if he does aim and hit the target...
It won't be easy to love me
I come with different
Shades of trust issues
And before these defiant masks
And towering walls fall
You got to teach
My skin how to submit to your touch
As I still cringe
When softness reaches my
Vulnerable parts.
I am yet to get a glimpse
Of the colour of a normal sunset
Whilst holding my lover's hand
Never listened to birds
Chirping away at sunrise
With you sleeping in my arms
I live for the day
We shall dance unhurriedly
To a sensual beat
And have our bodies sync
With our rhythm.
I crave to hear you speak
Say something
Say anything at all
The melody that would be
Your calm voice
Might sooth my demons
Back to sleep.
As wind plays the threads of my hair
Like a seasoned guitarist
Caress my back while sipping
Some sweet red wine
And have me
Long to hear you declare
Your love for my searching hands
While the passion in your eyes
Burns down every doubt I hold now
And like manna from heaven
You will fall
For my famished spirit.
I used to pen these so easily... I wonder why I shy from bleeding sentimental poetry. Why does decayed love change us so much? Why does it leave us so hollow and unwilling to welcome it ever again? I love love but love is harder than these romanticized quotes floating about out here.
*...either way, Happy Valentine to all the lucky hearts.
wambuku w.