Archives for posts with tag: broken heart

Journey Through Eternity Wall Photo

Waging war against tears.
The borderline
The enemy shall cross not,so I thought.
Preacher persists with peace talks.
The night stole my bliss.

My heart hollow,sorrow hovers around.
The pain sunk in teeth and stays clasped.
The fire within,finds friendly it’s doom.
How does he not give in? He withers within.
Death; a hound profound in gloom,in theft of life

Life kept concise,hassled off land of the living.
In wavelength with the dead,leaving behind ripples of regret.
Rhetoric questions reasoned,riffing response received;
Sympathizers with answers to my loud thoughts.
Reality reckons my loss,wreath shall grace your abode soon.

While you lay lifeless in bed,your child in his cot.
You gave to him life and left me void of support.
Shed blood on him and bled to death.
He throws tantrum,craving milk from your breast.
A boy denied his first love from the onset.

Six feet beneath the surface,all earthly possession surrendered.
Crying cousins witnessing your confinement to a coffin.
Growing giddy gathering gravel,shoving aside sense;
Wailing while women weep like men.
Rest in peace dear wife,it hurts to see death do us part.

Ex- ghoul is male, a Poet, a Wizard and Genius. he blogs at phonicphoenix.wordpress.com

Follow him on twitter @_l3kan

 

Good morning.

Hope we had a good weekend cos I sure did.

This here is Dunni’s Purge. A realistic piece that goes to confirm that trust is really a box of chocolate and you never know what you’ll get.

Please send your entries to loonpurge@gmail.com

Hola me on twitter @sunkit1

dunnie

Sacrifice

I was doing the dishes when my mum announced, “Feyi, you know you’ll be going to the university in few months’ time and I’ll need someone to assist me around the house so I employed a house help.”

“Okay. Male or female?” I asked, trying to sound indifferent.

“Male. He’s arriving next week from Togo.”

“Ugh, Mum! You know I don’t feel comfortable around male house helps. Moreover, how are you going to deal with the language barrier? Both of us can’t speak French fluently.

“See, we are in the twenty-first century”, she informed me, as if I’d just stepped out of a time machine. “Not many people are willing to be menials anymore so I can only take what I get.”

“Yeah, and luckily, it happened to be a boy,” I retorted

She sighed exaggeratedly. “Honey, the thing is I don’t trust the female ones. They’re so naive and gullible. Remember that girl that lived with us when you were ten? I never told you why I sent her away she got impregnated by the barber that works in the next street. I don’t want history to repeat itself. Moreover, boys are more hardworking. Oh, and about the language thing, the woman that helped me get him said he can speak little English.”

He arrived the following week. I had just returned from a friend’s house, when I saw him sitting in the parlour, with a ‘ghana-must-go’ bag on the floor beside him. He was wearing a white robe, like an angel bringing good tidings to my family. He was swarthy and seemed to be of average height.

“Hello, you must be the new house boy.” I said, forcing a smile.

He nodded. I decided to switch to French.

“Comment t’appelles tu?”

“Placide. Je m’appelle Placide.” His face lit up immediately. “You talk French?”

“Um, yeah, I speak little French.” I was about to mount the stairs when an idea occurred to me. “Hey, let’s make a deal. I’ll teach you English, you’ll teach me French.” He nodded his head obligingly, smiling faintly.

Placide behaved like his name. He was placid and meek. He was very diligent and got a hang of things pretty quickly. He took initiative and didn’t have to wait for orders before knowing what to do. My father was usually apathetic to every helper my mum employs but when Placide returned the three thousand naira he had found in the pocket of my dad’s jeans when he was about to wash them, my dad took a liking to him. Honest helpers are as rare as real diamonds.

I kept my word. My mother had neatly stacked my primary and secondary school textbooks in the bookshelf in my room, so I fished out the ones for English and French. He possessed an enviable alacrity and aptitude for learning, which helped him master the English language faster than it took me to master French.

The apprehension I had earlier concerning him quickly vanished, and a bond began to form between us. I became comfortable around him, and would converse freely with him whenever we happened to be together.

“Placide, you seem really clever and dexterous. Why aren’t you in school?” I asked one day, when we were cleaning up the kitchen.

He sighed, “I dropped out of secondary school when I was about to enter the final year. My parents got involved in a car accident few days before school was to resume. My father lost his life, while my mother couldn’t walk anymore. We exhausted all the money we had for her surgery and wheelchair. I couldn’t continue my education.”

“I’m so sorry. But don’t you have siblings or relatives that can be of help?”

He shook his head. “I have an elder brother but he doesn’t live with us. He’s very selfish. He works in a business firm but never bothers to send money home.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I’ve been doing odd jobs since then, so that I can save up enough money. I’ll send some to my mother− my aunt takes care of her presently– and I’ll use the rest to further my education.”

“That’s good. What do you want to study?”

“Computer Engineering. That had always been my dad’s dream for me.” His voice sounded husky, as if he was crying, but he was doing the dishes so I couldn’t see his face. I walked over to him and hugged him from behind, not knowing what else to say. Comforting people was not my forte.

Days turned into weeks, and then months. My mother successfully persuaded Placide not to return home at the end of the year as he was now part of our family. He celebrated New Year’s Day with us.

The first week of that year was very tiring for me. Due to the previous strike ASUU embarked on, the University of Ibadan ended up starting a new session in January, instead of September. I was to leave the following week, so I was busy buying all the necessary items and packing for school. Placide was somber through out that week, and I had to promise to call him often just to put a smile on his face.

Ziiiip

The sound of a zip being drawn down stirred me one night. I could feel a movement on my legs. Something was tugging at my underwear. “Oh my God, a rat,” I thought. I started and fully opened my groggy eyes only to see Placide over me. He was half-naked, clad in blue-checked boxer shorts, and was looking downwards into my skirt as if he was searching for a treasure between my thighs.

I was bewildered. Why was I still in my clothes and not my night wear? Why was Placide on my body? And then everything started falling into place. I had got back home late the day before. Out of fatigue, I had slept off, forgetting to take my shower and change into my nightwear. I hadn’t bothered to lock my door. My parents had mentioned that they would be attending a vigil that night. Placide had surreptitiously entered…

“Oh my God. What are you doing?” I cried

He looked up at me and blinked, as if he had just had an epiphany. “I…I, um, came to get something.”

“On my body? Jesus. Just get off me and get out!” I said, tears already streaming down my face.

“Feyi, please stop crying. I’m very sorry.”

I looked around me, and picked up the glass lamp, that was on my bedside table. “I swear I’ll break your head if you don’t leave my room this minute.”

He scrambled off. I hurriedly locked my door, and turned my back towards it as I slid to the floor. The tears gushed down in full force at that moment. My mind was whirling with agonizing emotions− Anger. Disappointment. Shock.

The person who I called my brother had tried to… what was the appropriate word for his action? Indecent assault? Attempted rape?

After all the love my family had shown him, he had chosen to repay us with evil.

What exactly did he expect? That I’d not wake up while he tried to sleep with me? Or I’d wake up and give him a go-ahead? Or maybe he was sleep-walking. The more thought I gave his action, the more obfuscated my mind became. I always made sure I was dressed decently at home so as not to seduce him. I could not remember ever giving him the impression that I was attracted to him. He always called me his sister so I never had the slightest idea of him being attracted to me.

I was angry at myself.  My usually keen instincts had failed me. No warning alarm had gone off in my head. I had let my guard down.

I got up from the floor, and got onto my bed. A green wristband beside my pillow caught my attention. It had the letters WWJD imprinted on it. I sighed. I had no idea what Jesus would do, but I knew how he would feel.

Jesus, this is how you felt when Judas betrayed you, right? The difference is that you’d seen it coming. I hadn’t.

I was in a quagmire. Was I supposed to tell my parents or pretend like nothing ever happened?

Hypnos emancipated me from my thoughts, as he cast me into a deep sleep while Morpheus formed dreams of half-naked men in blue-checked boxer shorts.

I opened my eyes, looking into the worried eyes of my mother. “Feyi, are you okay? It’s noon and you’re still asleep. Or did you observe your own vigil at home?” My mother was like that– always trying to joke even when she was worried. I smiled faintly.

“Seriously, are you okay? Your dad and Placide are really worried about you.”

The events that had occurred in the early hours of the morning flashed across my brain. In that moment of truth, I made a decision that seemed to border on folly. I decided not to inform my parents or anyone at all. It would break their hearts, and my father would definitely send him away. I knew how much they needed him. My mother needed him to help her around the house. My father had taken him as the son he never had. I remembered when they’d play table tennis together and discuss sports for hours. I thought of Placide’s mother in the wheelchair. I thought of his late father and his hopes for his son. He needed this job.

I knew that reporting his actions would not take the pain away. Instead, it would cause more pain for everyone involved. He had not actually defiled me. And I was leaving for school in few days so the opportunity would never arise again. I would suffer in silence, I would endure the pain. Time would heal my hurts and perhaps enable me to trust again. It was better for my parents to dwell in blissful ignorance. It was what I thought Jesus would do he would sacrifice himself for the joy of others’.

I smiled at my mum and said, “I’m fine.”

Placide has returned to his country. The world can finally hear my story.

Oluwadunni is an 100 level Law student of OAU. She is a PhlegMel who hopes her laziness will not hinder her from being a great writer. She only gets enthusiastic about the Word of God, good books, like-minded people and fine guys. She blogs at dunnidoxa.wordpress.com and is @I_am_doxa on twitter.”

I have to say thank you to every writer that has responded, I really appreciate your entries. Y’all make me happy and to everyone that comments too thanks. Other writers out there, Please make me happy and send entries to loonpurge@gmail.com or hola me on twitter @sunkit1
This is Ehi’s purge.  Another deep piece which I’m honored to have on my blog.  All rights reserved.
vanessa_place_40
                                                                                       “Dorothy’s place”

She was in her favourite room in the house
Surrounded by the distinct smell of stale urine and antiseptic
Tiled walls echoing her silent thoughts
Running water masking her tears
Here in her refuge there was peace
Here in her foul smelling harbour there was serenity
Here in her bathroom she didn’t have to think
Not about her past
Not about having to explain why her brother is sitting on the restaurant floor
Not about why her brother has to use the girl’s toilet with her
Not about why her brother is ten years old and still wears diapers
Not about why mommy cries at night
Here in her bathroom she didn’t have to think
Not about her present
Not about why her fourteen years old brother can’t wear his shorts
Not about why daddy can’t look at his boy sober
Not about why she has to be her mother’s mother
Not about why she can’t be her father’s daughter
Not about why tears are streaming down her face even though she’s not thinking
Not about why….
“Dorothy!!”
“Yes mother”
“Your brother wet the bed again you need to change the sheets”
She grudgingly left her cocoon
Staring at the bed
Sheets stained milky white
“Oh mother” she said
“That’s not pee”.
Ehi Enabs doesn’t get much sleep at night, she uses that time to save the world but when she’s not doing that (on laundry day when she has to wash her cape and tights) she tweets at Twitter.com/ehienabs and occasionally she gets published on wahalacentral.WordPress.com. She also takes long walks in her head.

Image

Here I stand, my hands soaked in blood like I had killed a ram for a sacrifice. But I did not kill a ram for sacrifice; I killed a man for love. I look down and see how blood gushes out from his tummy and form a trail like they have a destination.

I can hear my ragged breath as I see my chest rise and fall, an exercise this lifeless man’s chest won’t undergo again. Time flies, the silence increases, the blood trails, my rage reduces to anger and reality dawns on me faster than new dawn for a new day.

‘Sally you just killed’ that’s what the voice in my head tells me. I look down slowly without remorse at the lifeless body of this man. Even in death his face is still as beautiful as a puppy’s and his lifeless brown eyes stare at me. His long legs accuse me and those hands that had held me countless times condemn my act but justice smiles at my action.

His name was Fela and I loved him and still love him more than life itself. We had been so happy together till he decided to burst our bubbles. My love for Fela was pure like water from the springs. Undiluted like the tears that trickled down my face now. But I can’t say the same about the love he had for me. I had believed our love would move mountains like the faith of a mustard seed. I was so naïve, innocent like a child yet so in love.

‘Nothing but a dance’ his husky but alluring voice had said to me that night at Funbi’s party. I would have turned down every other guy but not this god-like creature. He was just like my dream man; tall, dark and handsome. More like the men in Tiwa Savage’s videos if not better.

Our dance that night had resulted in a dance of love; a burning inferno no one could quench. Fela called me always and told me how much he loved me and though I always believed men to be liars and deceitful creatures, Fela’s case was different and love had erased every iota of doubt I had about men.

A new born baby did not get as much love as Fela showed me and an egg was not treated with as much care Fela expressed to me.  We spent time together and he’d tell tales that gradually removed the wrong presumptions I had about love. His hands always set fire running through my veins and his lips washed my fears. He’d talk about when I would become his wife and be in his life forever.

‘Take it slow Fela’ I’d say. ‘Marriage is still a far thought’

‘no baby, you have everything I want in a woman so we can talk about marriage. I’ll catch a grenade for you Sally’ he’d always say with sparkles in his brown eyes.

12th of February 2012, I visit Fela at home, ignoring the gnawing feeling that I’d leave home like an innocent child and return a broken woman.

At his house, we talk; play; till things begin to go too far. I hear the warning bells in my head grow louder like a siren so I withdraw.

‘Babe what is it?’ He says with so much concern in his alluring voice.

‘I don’t want to do this’ I say in a shaky voice, trying to fight passion with reason.

He relaxes.

‘But we love each other’ he says with a grin.

I start to feel the knots in my stomach tighten. That smile always stops my breath.

‘I know Fela, and love should not be based on sex’

‘oh Sally this won’t be sex. It would be love making. Gentler; more meaningful than sex’ he says, his hands trailing my back.

‘I promised myself only one man will ever touch me. I love you so much but what if something goes wrong?’

‘Oh sweets nothing can go wrong. Everyone in love does it and nothing goes wrong’

‘Fela am scared. It’s my first time’

Shock embraces his face for a second but a smile replaces the shock and he pulls me close and plants a kiss on my forehead.

‘Oh Sally, I always told you, you are the woman of my dreams. You are a virtuous woman. Okay, we’ll wait’ he says and resumes his touching and kissing.

In the next ten minutes, there’s no sense of reason in me; passion takes charge.

One thing leads to the other, hands touch hands, cloths hit the floor, bodies become entangled, caution thrown to the wind; I scream. The cherry was popped.

I push him off and start to cry, he goes to get tissue and cleans me up but the tears won’t stop. He touches me, begs me and tries to console me. He goes on his knees

‘oh Sally am sorry I did not mean to. Please forgive me.’

My love pulls me close and rocks me like an old rocky chair as he apologizes and makes promises. Promises that dry my tears. Promises that silence the voice in my head saying ‘you just lost what you’ll never get back.’

Since the deed is done; we do it again. It’s painful but it gets easier. Pain and pleasure engage in battle and it becomes painful pleasure. It felt so good that the anger I felt at myself evaporated.

‘I’ll always be your man’ he says as he toys with my fingers

I blush and say ‘the day you leave me Fela I’ll kill you’

he laughs loud ‘you can’t  kill me sally, you love me. And stop talking that way. Have you ever seen a living snail separate from its shell?’

I shake my head.

‘That’s how inseparable we are’ he says and kisses me.

I pay Fela a surprise visit today, he doesn’t look so happy to see me though; but I blame it on stress. I tell him I bought him his favorite fruit; orange. He seems happy so I get the knife from the kitchen, peel it for him and watch him suck the oranges as we make small talk. We start to cuddle and we are about to go over the bridge but Fela stops and says he needs to tell me something. I get all jittery and my over active mind tells me he’s going to ask the question all ladies want to hear from their man.                                                                                                    ‘Shoot’ I say grinning

‘I think we should take a break Sally’ this thing is not working’

I don’t know if I’m still grinning but I know Fela is joking. He loves to joke so I respond to his joke with laughter.

‘Sally am serious’ I stop laughing and stare at him, too dumbfounded.

‘But Fela what’s wrong? Everything has been–’

‘Yes Sally but the truth is I see you as a friend’

ggggggrrrrreeennnn the fire alarm in my head goes off.

‘Fela you are a bastard’

‘I know’

A bullet in the head wouldn’t hurt as much as Fela’s words. The indifference on his beautiful face fuels my rage.

He lies on the bed where we had consummated our love so many times and closes his eyes feigning sleep and obviously dismissing me. I look around as memories flood my mind. I pick the knife I had used to peel oranges for him earlier. I stand over him like a mother over her son’s grave.

‘My word is my bond Fela ’, I say as he flips open those beautiful brown eyes

Up and down goes my arms with the knife in my grip and rage burning up my body .I feel the blood splatter on my face and it feels good just like droplets of rain on my face on a sunny day.

Freedom, love, hatred, rage, revenge all become one in my heart. I feel like I am in the seventh heaven as the taste of his blood on my lips is as satisfying as our love making.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

BY Oluwaseyi Oluyole, @sunkit1 on twitter