Letters to Ayoola (3)

Ayoola, ore mi,

A thousand oceans and broken telephone wires could not separate us. As I usually do, I have mused and mused over your last careful and cursive letter. Perhaps, I should have celebrated the coming of a new life by going through the traditional fanfare. Tears of joy. A congratulatory call. More tears. Anticipation. Rather, your impending birth has had me contemplating our beloved Orisha. I’ve thought about it often enough to say it: this new life must be floating somewhere between orun ati aye. Are you impatient? I cannot bear the anguish of waiting or more still, my absence.

Between soothing tears and building broken bridges, I have been praying for light. When the darkness engulfed my blindness I found it easier to shield my body. I enjoyed the invisibility and I would sometimes gracefully dance between the uneven shadows I found. My own was lost but there were many I found along the way. But I still prayed for the light. I prayed fervently and fearfully, knowing that my body- naked, shapeless and contorted would be seen- be unveiled-
to whom?
These questions, as do thoughts of how many tears paradise can carry, elude me daily. Where do we find the strength to build when stones so quickly turn to sand? Supposing I lost my footing, which I constantly do–which of the two worlds would accept my heavy, sinful bounty of a body? Ore mi, I am still falling: 

Ore mi, I am still falling: 

I don start again, abi? I know. All my love to Baba, at long last, some sense in the title. And to my beloved, yes, mine: whisper not only the beauty but also the pure evils and maladroits of our Great Care-Taker. If you won’t, I shall, and you know that is a promise

To more days of Sangria sweetness.

Yours,

 

Friend, You are not alone

Friend, You are not alone.

Even in life’s worst days and nights. Believe me, you are not alone.

Yes, the rocky road can seem rockier on some parts of the journey.

Yes, the waves may tower over you, engulfing you.

It might seem difficult to see beyond where your eyes meet the faraway horizon.

But believe me friend, I may not be there always. But you are not alone.

It is hard now but it won’t always be.

Think on caterpillars and butterflies, darkness and dawns.

And remember you are never alone.

Thinkings on what could have been

Image 

Its funny where we thought we were but really weren’t.

All those promised “i do’s” and forgotten “i love you’s”,

They sit in a corner at an angle which seems to mock my blindness.

To believe in something so truly and so desperately.

Lying somewhere close to what resembles what could have been.

But never quite getting close enough to touch it.

We played it safe, never undressing the present nor caressing the future.

On the edge of what could be and what was- we waited.

It felt familiar but in some ways distant and cold yet it consumed us.

Looking out into the horizon we watched it evolving without our manipulation.

Maybe we willed it to die for fear of the unknown, for fear of what we would be powerless to.

It was easier to exist between the fire and the rain.

But did we ever even exist?