Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Foerver my love
Destiny is destiny; no mortal being can tamper with it. Dogs can rule this world but they cannot rule God. Though the term dog is an inverse reading of the term God, a dog will always remain a vicious animal with no power to change the course that God has curved for us.
Clara my love, my life is skinned to the born as I cast a glimpse at the torrent of tears bursting out of your sparkling eyes. Please lean on my shoulder; it is the only shoulder you can cry on for comfort. This epoch of pain and sadness, this chapter of abandonment and restlessness shall soon come to pass. We will triumph with time. Thoughts of you always linger in my brain, awake or asleep, sparking a feel of a terrible sensation of blood flow through my veins, a flow of the desire and the longing to be with you always.
“Promise me that you will love me forever, that you will love me the way I am,” you told me, lying at the hospital bed. Your bright eyes had lost the touch with reality. I assured you that I would. I said that to you I would hang on like death; that without you my life would be worthless, with no desire to live but no wish to die.
It hurts me to see you in tears. I know the merciless wounds that words can wreck on a human. Words cut beyond razors, for razors cut where you can see but words mercilessly dissect the inner marrows of the heart where you can’t see. Trust me, my life is ready to go any mile, to withstand any pains that there might be, until we realize our dream. Remember Clara, you are the reason why I am alive, the dream of my life, the candle that lights my path of happiness.
To begin from the very beginning, yes the beginning of the beginning, I told my mother straight in the face that I see no woman on earth other than you fit enough to go to the altar with. I told her in the face that I love you and that I was even ready to sacrifice my life for you.
I looked at mama, Clara, it was as if she was ill, there was a tremor on her face. Then I heard her voice very slow and very soft like the sea breaking steadily against old and broken cliffs: “You are too young to understand love. You are too young to mention love and death in one mouth.”
I see Clara; the measure of one’s intelligence is not by the size of the head. At last I have come to realize that in as much as my mother is a woman; she is far away from understanding what love is all about.
Probably my mother does not understand what it is to have your blood flowing in my vessels. I can never part away from you, we can never part away from each other, not even death can separate us. Every time I touch my heart and feel its beat, I am reminded that what carries life in my blood vessels is your love. Mama can’t see that. She is blinded by the need to get hold of grandchildren she can call her own.
The circumstances through which we met makes me believe beyond reasonable doubt that we were meant for each other. I just saw you by my bedside at the hospital. Doctors told me that I had fallen from the school bus, drunk, on the way from a soccer match back to the campus, Mangani College of Sciences. Of course we were all in the same class but we had not been that close. Something pricked me when the doctor told me that I had had a blood transfusion and that you had donated blood for the cause. From that moment on I stopped seeing you like Clara Yakaya, I only saw an angel in your form.
“I wish you a quick recovery,” I heard your voice dancing softly in my ears. After you were gone, your name sprung up to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand. My eyes were often full of tears and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour into my bosom. I thought a little of the future, I thought of your blood that was keeping me alive, I thought of the joy my life would get if only I live with you till death do us part. Clara, I was thinking that when you come again how would I explain my absolute adoration of your beauty: a tall woman with an elegant figure, long-legged, narrow-hipped, broad-backed, strings of black hair dancing on your forehead.
I caught a glimpse of you again on the next day in the company of fellow students. Honestly Clara, cease crying, my heart leapt a somersault. I did not know how I would unburden the scrolls of love buried in the innermost soul of my heart. You gave me a handshake; I grabbed your hand longer in mine. There was something in your eyes that told me that you would be mine forever, something that whispered into my heart that you would never leave me. Actually, in your left ear I whispered that I love you. You just smiled then left with your colleagues for the school campus.
I see it unthinkable that four years later in our love life, having introduced you to my parents so too the inverse being true, my mother then has to insert a wedge in our life to tear us apart. I solemnly swear by the moon and the stars and the sky that I do not subscribe to what my mother said to you. She is not God. It is only you and me who have the moral mandate to decide our destiny.
You see what, I am highly surprised that a week prior to events that led to disagreements with mom, we visited her. I saw you pounding maize with the apongozi side by side. She actually confided in me that I had made the right choice. Why now? Why the indecision?
Of course what upset her was that a medical examination revealed that you have uterus cancer. We were together. Doctors actually said that the only solution was to operate on you and remove the infected uterus. Oh, God, we sighed a sigh of discomfiture, that entailed that we would never ever have a child of our own.
Danger, Clara, danger. You visited mama this afternoon only to meet a woman who could not dare look you in the face. I looked at papa only to see his face going somber; his life seemed to have fled. He tried to infuse life and happiness on his face, a mark that could not help to betray the cold and dark heart underneath his ribs.
“Sorry apongozi,” mama at last faced you in the face. “You must leave my son alone. He cannot marry a woman who will not bear her a child. He is my only child.”
You see, I didn’t expect mama to be that ruthless. I saw you returning back, dejected, desolate. I rushed over to you but you parried me away. I rushed back to my parents; there was nothing we could agree. Clara, I remain yours, the Patrick Sache on your life, the one whose life is kept alive by your blood. I promise you Clara that forever you will be my love. There can never be any woman to fill the space that you have been occupying. I have a solution; we will go to orphanages, pick two kids from there then make them our own. Please smile, at least I have to see the whiteness of your teeth.
Clara my love, my life is skinned to the born as I cast a glimpse at the torrent of tears bursting out of your sparkling eyes. Please lean on my shoulder; it is the only shoulder you can cry on for comfort. This epoch of pain and sadness, this chapter of abandonment and restlessness shall soon come to pass. We will triumph with time. Thoughts of you always linger in my brain, awake or asleep, sparking a feel of a terrible sensation of blood flow through my veins, a flow of the desire and the longing to be with you always.
“Promise me that you will love me forever, that you will love me the way I am,” you told me, lying at the hospital bed. Your bright eyes had lost the touch with reality. I assured you that I would. I said that to you I would hang on like death; that without you my life would be worthless, with no desire to live but no wish to die.
It hurts me to see you in tears. I know the merciless wounds that words can wreck on a human. Words cut beyond razors, for razors cut where you can see but words mercilessly dissect the inner marrows of the heart where you can’t see. Trust me, my life is ready to go any mile, to withstand any pains that there might be, until we realize our dream. Remember Clara, you are the reason why I am alive, the dream of my life, the candle that lights my path of happiness.
To begin from the very beginning, yes the beginning of the beginning, I told my mother straight in the face that I see no woman on earth other than you fit enough to go to the altar with. I told her in the face that I love you and that I was even ready to sacrifice my life for you.
I looked at mama, Clara, it was as if she was ill, there was a tremor on her face. Then I heard her voice very slow and very soft like the sea breaking steadily against old and broken cliffs: “You are too young to understand love. You are too young to mention love and death in one mouth.”
I see Clara; the measure of one’s intelligence is not by the size of the head. At last I have come to realize that in as much as my mother is a woman; she is far away from understanding what love is all about.
Probably my mother does not understand what it is to have your blood flowing in my vessels. I can never part away from you, we can never part away from each other, not even death can separate us. Every time I touch my heart and feel its beat, I am reminded that what carries life in my blood vessels is your love. Mama can’t see that. She is blinded by the need to get hold of grandchildren she can call her own.
The circumstances through which we met makes me believe beyond reasonable doubt that we were meant for each other. I just saw you by my bedside at the hospital. Doctors told me that I had fallen from the school bus, drunk, on the way from a soccer match back to the campus, Mangani College of Sciences. Of course we were all in the same class but we had not been that close. Something pricked me when the doctor told me that I had had a blood transfusion and that you had donated blood for the cause. From that moment on I stopped seeing you like Clara Yakaya, I only saw an angel in your form.
“I wish you a quick recovery,” I heard your voice dancing softly in my ears. After you were gone, your name sprung up to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand. My eyes were often full of tears and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour into my bosom. I thought a little of the future, I thought of your blood that was keeping me alive, I thought of the joy my life would get if only I live with you till death do us part. Clara, I was thinking that when you come again how would I explain my absolute adoration of your beauty: a tall woman with an elegant figure, long-legged, narrow-hipped, broad-backed, strings of black hair dancing on your forehead.
I caught a glimpse of you again on the next day in the company of fellow students. Honestly Clara, cease crying, my heart leapt a somersault. I did not know how I would unburden the scrolls of love buried in the innermost soul of my heart. You gave me a handshake; I grabbed your hand longer in mine. There was something in your eyes that told me that you would be mine forever, something that whispered into my heart that you would never leave me. Actually, in your left ear I whispered that I love you. You just smiled then left with your colleagues for the school campus.
I see it unthinkable that four years later in our love life, having introduced you to my parents so too the inverse being true, my mother then has to insert a wedge in our life to tear us apart. I solemnly swear by the moon and the stars and the sky that I do not subscribe to what my mother said to you. She is not God. It is only you and me who have the moral mandate to decide our destiny.
You see what, I am highly surprised that a week prior to events that led to disagreements with mom, we visited her. I saw you pounding maize with the apongozi side by side. She actually confided in me that I had made the right choice. Why now? Why the indecision?
Of course what upset her was that a medical examination revealed that you have uterus cancer. We were together. Doctors actually said that the only solution was to operate on you and remove the infected uterus. Oh, God, we sighed a sigh of discomfiture, that entailed that we would never ever have a child of our own.
Danger, Clara, danger. You visited mama this afternoon only to meet a woman who could not dare look you in the face. I looked at papa only to see his face going somber; his life seemed to have fled. He tried to infuse life and happiness on his face, a mark that could not help to betray the cold and dark heart underneath his ribs.
“Sorry apongozi,” mama at last faced you in the face. “You must leave my son alone. He cannot marry a woman who will not bear her a child. He is my only child.”
You see, I didn’t expect mama to be that ruthless. I saw you returning back, dejected, desolate. I rushed over to you but you parried me away. I rushed back to my parents; there was nothing we could agree. Clara, I remain yours, the Patrick Sache on your life, the one whose life is kept alive by your blood. I promise you Clara that forever you will be my love. There can never be any woman to fill the space that you have been occupying. I have a solution; we will go to orphanages, pick two kids from there then make them our own. Please smile, at least I have to see the whiteness of your teeth.
