They say it is the month of Love: February. Today: the exact day in said month.
Among other things, I like to think of, to call myself a Lover of Love. And, so, Love has always been in generous doses, been a healthy deal here at Nu kɛ Hulu (Water and Sun).
And because there should be no such thing as too much Love, because too much true Love should never hurt anyone, I bring you, Reader Dear, a cocktail of Love pieces…
A cocktail – poetry, prose, prose-fiction, creative non-fiction:
* * *
* I *
For what Thing have oaths been broken, laws come to no use, paradises been lost, selves ceased to be, wars raged and been waged, worlds toppled over and feuds fueled or even, been started?
What same Thing will humankind – with alL their possessions and statuses – never tire of hearing,of experiencing, of giving and if granted, never tire of receiving in portions and folds, once and again and over and all again?
For what one Thing have yokes been broken, wounds been bound, hearts known healing, shores been recovered, worlds bloomed anew, and collective tongues found or even, been first formed?
What single Thing have poem upon story and many a song been made and continue to be made for and about – all of which are – and will never grow stale and silent in the ears and very often, in the very soul of humankind?
- from Fifteen Pieces of Literature: Fifteen Shades of What They Call L.O.V.E (Part 1), part of a series of essays about Love and Love poems.
* II *
Consummation by Aisha Nelson
still and stale
grinds into clots
of grit and water
just by a drizzle
flaunts its secrets
of spikes and flesh
due to a tickle
blood-frothed thrObs of passion
scent-strung beads of sweat
you are not ashamed
But stand naked
- from Fifteen Pieces of Literature: Fifteen Shades of What They Call L.O.V.E (Part 4), part of a series of essays about Love and Love poems.
* III *
…But some Love can be like that.
Some Love can cry and work Itself into a kind of death, and yet, and yet when It gets all that It has been longing and dying for, all on platter after forever a platter and with every necessary accessory, what will this Love do?
It will go cold or comatose or worse at the sudden getting and having of all these Its heart-shredding, soul-gorging desires.
It will go mute and numb with the wonder of prayers that get answered with such jarring humour and dramatic flourish; with the fear of how It came to deserVe this wondrous giving; with stubborn hesitation of how-in-God’s-universe It could have been worthy of such giving, such generous return of a meager love It even barely gave.
And when this Love, some Love does get over Its mute and numb, It plays too shy or too afraid or too careful or too careful and too afraid and too shy to let the first words gather form in Its mind, put on soul in Its heart, roll down Its tongue, slip out of Its mouth…
Is some Love not like that?
- from Falling in Awe of Kobena Eyi Acquah, a personal essay.
* IV *
CloudYou! – #TheSeedling
has curious personality
is filtered-fine goodness
needs no kneading
sates at mere sight
you should have been
the fun, the
in that cloud
the onE right
* V *
…Yoofi had been praying about Ewurasi since since. Perhaps, Prayer was all he did. Either he always failed at Watching or he would not even know what it is.
And when he thought about it all, he realized Ewurasi had meant something by all those little, sometimes silly, gestures:
Yoofi always saw Ewurasi off after each church service, right to her house gate. Many times, he turned around and found her still standing, watching his back as he went. Yoofi only smiled and waved Ewurasi another goodbye. Always.
Yoofi and Ewurasi did hold hands, sometimes. But thrice their hands accidentally brushed each other’s. Something not-exactly-odd about this made Ewurasi tremble with a curious quiver in her breathing. The carnal hung thick and fat in the air between them. Ewurasi’s face fell with a shame that did not seem to belong to her. Yoofi cleared his throat, with careful, measured intent. His lips flattened and widened until they lost every semblance of a curve. His cheeks thinned over the beautiful roundness of his jaw bones. Yoofi cleared his throat again, relaxed the flesh on his face and soon, said carnality, the block of tension, sublimed.
Yoofi and Ewurasi shared many things – sometimes, very personal things. Twice, he gave Ewurasi his handkerchief. Ewurasi washed, ironed, perfumed and returned it to him. Yoofi only raised his brows at what he probably thought was a doubly lame surprise. A contrived smile and a blunt ‘Thank you’, and Yoofi walked away.
Yoofi and Ewurasi talked a lot together. Once she told a joke about how some Christian brother tried proposing to a sister:
‘Sister, I really really want to be there with you’, said the brother, a little too boldly.
‘Where is there?’
‘There. I mean there…’ he simply reiterated.
The sister, she feared that the brother would think her un-spiritual to have forgotten all about it. Nervous, she quickened her pace, but not without redeeming her reputation – saving the face of her spirituality.
‘Oh, sorry! You mean the upcoming revival. Sure, it will be powerful. It will be mega. I will see you there, right? So yes, I will see you. There.’
In the end, Ewurasi was hurt, more than for just sharing this joke. She had her reasons. And Yoofi did not find the joke funny. He could not find its crust. He too had his reasons. Ewurasi felt the joke was out of place. She felt like the sister in the joke. And she could not tell if Yoofi thought her – too – un-spiritual after all or very silly or slyly suggestive. Or all of these. Or more and worse.
As for Yoofi, the joke scratched a delicate part of him about his inaction – or was it silence? For he called Ewurasi many sweet names and walked and talked with her many times over. Yoofi told Ewurasi his dreams – his wishes and revelations and everything in between – but Yoofi never said to Ewurasi the three magic words, together, and in the correct order:
I, love and you.
- from Watch. And Pray , a(n unconventional) Love story.
Thursday, 14th February, 2019; Dansoman, Accra Ghana.