It’s easy to fall in love, but its special to STAY in love’ Unknown

Love

Loss

Is it me?

It must be.

For he always walks away

Especially after I’ve pushed him far

Far away.

Walking away

 

You don’t understand

This pain

Its a drug I can’t explain.

Dance

Doomed to dance the same routine

Like a marionette in an empty theatre

Trapped

Ghostly applause

Echoing

At my bleeding feet

Sad Posts

I hate it when my poetry goes all dark.

I’m not sad.

Not really.

I have yellow daffodils.

And a miniature pink hippo.

Also, lots of strawberries.

😉

Life is good Alhamdulillah

Africa, My Mother.

Warm sun beating on darkened brow.

Heavy kisses of a humid day.

A welcoming handshake,

In an African smile.

Envy

I wish I was stronger.

I wish I was braver.

I wish I was louder.

I wish I took up more space.

I wish.

I wish.

I wish.

I wish I didn’t envy her for what I am not.

 

The Powers That Be

Will you allow me to be stronger

To take a leap and become better

To hope for love and dream for more

To jump for joy

And smile.

Keep smiling.

Smiling.

Smiling.

The Quilted Dream

‘Allahu Akbar Allah Akbar’
The call to prayer reverberates in the air.
Shimmering through the sunlight.
Gliding past lace curtains, through windows and open doors.
To rest lightly on the ears and hearts of the beloved faithful.

Asha leans her head back against the turquoise window sill
The fluttering lace curtain tickles her face.
A humid breeze languidly strokes her cheek.
The call to prayer is her favourite song.
With a stirring deep in her heart,she answers back the call softly:
‘La haula wa laa quwwata illa billah’

A heavy sigh escapes her lips.
And as her eyes flit over the landscape of rooftops from her vantage point, she feels her heart twang in symphony with the call.

Almost like it’s calling out to her personally.

‘Come out here Asha.’
‘Come pray.’
‘Come live.’
‘Come and be.’

Shaking her head to disperse the pointless musings of her restless heart, Asha goes to make ‘Wudh’u’: ablutions for her noon prayer.

 There is no time for silly thoughts.There are prayers to be made. Cooking to be done. And she has to get back to the office soon.

As she walks out she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Full lips. Almond shaped twinkiling brown eyes. Curly wisps of hair have escaped from the confines of her professional hair bun and fall prettily accross her shoulders. ‘I have a beautiful face’ she muses. And as she turns to walk out of the room, ‘And a generous behind too! That is after all, my African heritage!’

Asha is half black. Half Arab.

She is a black Arab. Or an Arab African.

Caught between two worlds.

…..To Be Continued….

Love And Other Things

Author: Bagande

love

How about that?

I think I am afflicted.

I am an unrelenting, miserable romantic.

And for the life of me, I do not know how I got here.

In my head, I am a cynical, independent feminist. Who doesn’t need any man to complete her.

In reality,  I love a mushy romance novel, a cheesy chick flick, and I dream of falling hopelessly in love…exactly like how it happens in the movies.

I want the cheesy soundtrack and the prince charming. The steamy first kiss and most importantly, the happy ending.

But life is rarely ever like that.

And if your life IS like that..well. Shooooo! Yes! I am shoo-ing you off my blog. You have no place here, o’ person with perfect life. I am here to vent and say that romance is dead, and love does not truly exist. SOOOO before you contradict me, and then I subsequently bite your head off with venomous jealousy…ermmm….kindly press the esc key and be gone 🙂 Hurry along. Yes, good. Now then.

Where was I?

Yes, Love is poo.

Really, it is,

Its this horrible thing, that makes you feel good for a while, gets you hooked, makes you severely confused, and then up and leaves.

Leaving you horribly bereft and worse off than before!

Okay, okay I know, most of you will be saying by now that I’m contradicting myself.

Yes, I said love doesn’t exist. And now, I’m moaning about it.

What I really meant was that REAL love. Romantic love. Movie love. Love love. Yes, that one! Its not real.

Tell me one person, who fell magically in love (ahem, ‘in lust’ more like) at first sight, and their marriage lasted 70 years?

Yea.

You can’t find one.

I on the other hand, met this lovely 92 year old lady. Whose marriage HAS lasted 70 years. And her story had nothing to do with romantic movie love. It was war – time and she did ‘what was expected of a young lady.’ Nonetheless…she is as happy as a peach. Although probably just as wrinkled as a peach too. She was lovely. And she held my hand and told me of a long, and fulfilled life. With many children, and many laughs.

Life isn’t really in technicolour.

Its a splodge of colour here. A splash of laughs there. A collection of moments and half-whispered promises. Hold on to those moments. Enjoy them. Revel in them. Wash your face with them. THIS is your life. Not that one in the little box you watch.

* Disclaimer: This was written when I was feeling throughly disillusioned with ‘love’  I am currently still a hopeless, hapless romantic 😀 *

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