Was It Ever Love?


Love and hate. So intertwined! The line inbetween so thin. And sometimes it’s hard to know whether it’s love or hate. So turbulent! So, so unsettling!

Here she was. At an age where she should really know better but it seemed commonsense and experience had disembarked the train that was her life at some unknown station. Perhaps if she could remember when and where, she could attempt to go back in time and reunite with both.

Unforgivable. That’s how she felt about the crime she had committed. She had thought, no, she knew for sure that she had escaped the frying pan. How then did she end up in the fire? She had been careful, did all the things she could to keep herself safe. Still, how she had ended here was a huge mystery. And now it wasn’t just one crime.........they were several.

Anguish engulfed her to the point of wishing death. The pain assailed her, tearing her apart, keeping her awake for hours on end. The result was a nasty, bitchy, loud and testy human being in the light of day.

Shame was and had always been her greatest enemy. And now, he had taken residence. How would she ever show her face to her circle of friends? How was she going to explain this?

Anger told her it wasn’t all her fault on one hand and on the other berated her for her naivety and stupidity. She wasn’t a teenager anymore, was she? What was wrong with her?

And she fell into a pool of tears as the sobs jerked her body, a wailing, lonely sound escaping her now and then. Comfortless, she cried until she could cry no more and her eyes were swollen shut, her head throbbing painfully, her nose blocked and her whole frame fallen over like a tree thrown about by a gale.

Would the sun ever shine again? Into the darkness that overwhelmed her soul, her spirit, her heart. Would she ever be able to smile again, laugh perhaps or feel alive, ever? She didn’t wonder about love. Love got her into this. Or was it ever love?

Popular posts from this blog

Remembering Captain Kwame Waikenda

Image
A year ago, April rolled in and you were gone. This is my tribute then and my tribute even now. Hope you have met my Suzs. Miss you. Kwame burst into my life with a smile and a witty remark that had me smiling and enthralled for life. He wasn't just Aunty Susan's nephew, he became my nephew too and a friend who loved me for me and always treated me with respect even though he would tease me mercilessly at times, he never at any one time showed me anything but utter respect. He made sure to stay in touch even in the days of handwritten letters, he would take time out and send me a letter or two. In the recent past whenever he landed, he would call me up to say 'hello, Mama Kris I am in town, let's meet' . And it would always be a surprise and I would be amazed by his thoughtfulness and consideration that in the few days he had in town, he would make time to see me. He did not only tell me I was a queen, he treated me as one and I felt honoured by his undivided atte
Read more

Capt. Kwame K. Waikenda

Image
HIGH FLIGHT Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth And danced the skies on laughter—silvered wings; Sunward I have climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun—spilt clouds, - and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of— Wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence, Hov'ring there I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft though footless halls of air............... Up, up the long, delirious burning blue I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace Where never lark or ever eagle flew— And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod The high un-trespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand, and touched the face of God. - John Gillespie Magee, Jr.
Read more

The Hand That Rocks the Cradle Rules the World by William Ross Wallace (1819-1881)

Image
Blessings on the hand of women!  Angels guard its strength and grace. In the palace, cottage, hovel,  Oh, no matter where the place; Would that never storms assailed it,  Rainbows ever gently curled,  For the hand that rocks the cradle  Is the hand that rules the world.  Infancy's the tender fountain,  Power may with beauty flow,  Mothers first to guide the streamlets,  From them souls unresting grow —  Grow on for the good or evil,  Sunshine streamed or evil hurled,  For the hand that rocks the cradle  Is the hand that rules the world.  Woman, how divine your mission,  Here upon our natal sod;  Keep – oh, keep the young heart open  Always to the breath of God!  All true trophies of the ages  Are from mother-love impearled,  For the hand that rocks the cradle  Is the hand that rules the world.  Blessings on the hand of women!  Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,  And the sacred song is mingled  With the worship in the sky —  Mingles where no tempest darkens,  Rainbows evermore are hu
Read more