Home Poesy My love.

My love.


My love was a three year old boy.
Searching, touching, feeling.
On a quest for a sugar bowl,
a taste, and a stay in that bowl.

My love was a teenage boy.
Strong, passionate, persistent.
Jumping hurdles
trying to stand out, to be seen,
to be acknowledged, to be significant.

It did. And then it happened.

My love became a first time swimmer.
With no strokes in its book,
and without a life saving jacket.

My love became a school boy
that is always persuaded
to sweep the room,
and catches a cold
from being the good boy
that never resists.

My love became that lone bloke,
lying casually on his bed,
interrupting a conversation
that an irritated dame
is enjoying with a cute athlete.

My love became a mother,
with naughty and errant children,
who peeks through the fence
and wishes the neighbour’s
were hers.

My love became a hungry farmer
in a semiarid area,
who grows tomatoes
but learns, later,
that he had planted
in the wrong season.

Now, it is stunned.

My love is a stranded passenger,
shivering in the cold night
as he waits at a bus stop
and wonders if any vehicle
will get him home.

My love is an employee
who wakes up quite late
and questions,
whether to go to work,
or choose to be fired,
for not reporting,
and signing the book?

My love is a traveller
who returns home, ecstatic,
only to to find that
he’s lost all the photos
he took on his last trip.

My love is alone and small,
solitary and striving,
battling and curious.
Absorbing everything.

My love is a lover,
without a lover.
Always hoping,
wishing and praying.

My love is boring
for, like God, it’s condescending.
Every time I speak to it,
it never speaks back
like it’s incapable of language.
When it prays,
it does, to itself, for itself.

My love is scared that I am
feeling too much for it.
I fear, too,
but it keeps a part of me alive.

My love has become a criminal
with a good alibi.
It is not missing.
I just don’t know where it is.

My love would have killed me
if I had not killed it.
It will kill me. Someday.

If my love was a movie
it would be one that I have(not) watched.
It would be in 3D.
Dispiriting. Disgusting. Disappointing.

When tomorrow is here,
and its punishment known,
my love, will be a darned man,
with scars and blister filled feet,
tasked to walk on burning coal,
or be shot for disobeyal.

Alexander Twinokwesiga
Thursday, March 13, 2014.
Karen, Nairobi.


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