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You Could Tell…

There used to be a time
when a man was defined by a woman,
’cause women were hard to come by,
women were rare gems like the diamonds of the sierra leoners,
the vertebrae of a man’s structure,
the heart & soul of his mind,
and the rythm to his beats,
it used to be all that,
and it used to be that
you could tell what a man had gone through just by seeing his woman
and you could see he’s a man just by meeting his woman,
you could even tell he’s no easy man
by being snubbed when trying to break in the unbreakable barrier of this woman,
and you could tell how kind he can be
by the meekness of such a woman,
her toughness against untrue characters and shallowness,
you could tell, there,
was a lion, with a lioness,
you could tell,
a love from which a family was born,
an art from which meanings and perceptions never cease,
but alas the days, here,
they are here,
and there’s hardly much to tell,
hardly many or any left to tell of…


The man was never made today,
for the boy was always becoming yesterday,
and even still is,
’cause like success,
the man isn’t the destination,
the man is his journey,
a testament of love and hate,
of the wind, the sun and the rain,
the stumbling’s, the lows and the highs
all through the way,
across all his aims,
never ending,
always reaching to be a man, a better and better man,
yet and yet again, every day,
until the day he becomes one of the men of yesterday’s…

I don’t want to be a shooting star,
rise fast,
and fall even faster,
i just want to be a star,
always there when needed,
ever present,
far or near,
never fading,
even for forever…

Two times a day?
if love came as a dose,
how many would I be prescribed?
my lovely,
my heart is at your prescription’s mercy,
but how much of your love’s tablet am i even allowed,
or you just don’t care
if the health of love diminishes,
’cause you are no nurse-y nurse-y
you say,
so you do not know how to make the love healthy again,
and me, I’m no nurse- nurse-y
i say,
yet did all i could to keep the doctor away,
but obviously, in this embodiment of love,
it takes two, who willingly become one,
to keep a healthy accord,
to each day at least take a dose of love,
and keep up,
but now,
is it a doctor we need,
a surgeon maybe?
a coffin, or the crematory?
’cause a dose of love was all that was needed
to keep the doctor away,
but i guess we would never need the doctor anymore again,
’cause there perhaps is no “we” anymore since “we” seem to be vain…

Love is not for the faint of heart,
’cause through the good and the bad,
the heart will always faint,
and that’s only just love for a start…

Some come across true love,
from the very first try, from the first love,
and on from the very first night,
but then, they whisper to themselves,
as love makes the world go round,
in search of perfection,
if I go round,
i’ll find a better world,
a world,
where there’s not only love,
but everything i want,
and then,
they go round in search of what they want
never forever finding a complete world,
’cause the truth is,
love is all that makes the world go round,
not something better,
not something perfect,
but just love,
and as sad as it might seem to some,
who know not how to cherish what they’ve got,
it is the same sadness that some others seek to come across
’cause that sadness, is truly a joy,
the joy of being loved, and loving someone back in return,
and knowing that,
the second step in keeping your world round as it is,
is cherishing the love
that you’ve got.

it is not really life anymore,
it is now kinda like a battle,
but we don’t go to war,
we just have to wake up,
no weapons,
we just have to be courageous
to take each day as it comes,
no shields,
for we there’s nothing to loose
no giving up,
for we life has dealt its worst
and we’re numb to the punches
and we live this war
’cause there’s nothing to be afraid of anymore,
our cheeks have hit the pavement
our backs have been buried in the
still, we rise up,
for we,
our strength lies not in being strong,
our toughness lies not in being tough,
neither does our ability to stand up
or get right back up
wraps itself all up in our resolution,
for we,
its not just about we anymore,
its about we and the people we love,
who loves us too,
its about the little things we see that
makes life worth at least one out of sixty
seconds more,
the many lemons that life throws at us
so we can make more than a glass of lemonade to gulp,
the old woman who smiles and says
i wouldn’t change a thing if I could go back in time,
but i wouldn’t want my daughter to make the same mistakes
i made back in time,
the little child that says hi with a twinkling smile to a dark skin man
and runs back to her mother’s arms
and we all laugh,
mother, father, child and I,
the sadness and hopelessness,
yet relentlessness of a beggar at the
same spot every day,
begging for a dime,
not wanting to die
when there’s nothing to live for,
or even worse be sustained by,
but he makes it seem there’s everything to live for,
the heck, he’s even got it worse,
but he clings on,
and then, a beautiful flower,
creatures, awakened by the scent of spring time,
why should we ever stop to try,
again and again,
one more time,
when life itself is just one time?

The question is not when someone loves you,
what do they do,
its always a question of
when you love someone,
what do you do,
’cause nothing reflects more on love,
than the things we can or cannot do
for those we say we love…

I looked
as she walked towards the bus stop,
that was me a while ago,
watching her as I watched my bus coming along,
I was her,
but she wasn’t me yet,
for that,
for her to be me,
time would have to pass,
’cause she just missed hers by a few seconds,
its always the same story,
in the end
everything always goes to ashes,
just differences in the contents,
where none of it usually matter,
and truly, no,
nothing of it ever matters,
not to this girl,
or anyone who’s been there
at that particular time in their lives,
’cause in the end
all that matters
is that it will come,
the next bus,
surely it would,
’cause it wasn’t midnight yet,
and love would come knocking again…

They say,
there’s no place like home,
but more truly,
there’s no place like love,
a place where peace resides,
and beauty stays more than mere nights,
a place that paints hearts with colours
and gives the worlds such warmth,
a sky full of suns looking upon
the butterflies soaring the endless skies of love’s stomachs,
a floor of rose petals
heeding to feets winged like the spreads of an eagle,
they soar, they fly,
they fall,
fall close to grinding their beaks on the rocks like an eaglet
being tossed and thrown from the cloud’s mom,
and then draw their first ‘swords’
like Harry Potter saying “Abracadabra”
and then it all comes to place for the first time
like a child uttering the first words,
Mama, papa, ma pa,
its first words,
and then, they soar,
and their wings wouldn’t flutter anymore,
love, becomes a nature,
not just of nurture,
the winds forever will use them no more,
listening to the echoes of its call
they soar high above its fall,
now, they use the winds,
it begins to feel like breathing,
and freely, they breath,
I’m home honey,
one says,
honey, I’m home,
the other says,
the unity becomes one with all there is to be,
indeed, there’s no place like love,
for wherever there is love,
there is a home…

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