Silence seals my mouth, the passage way through which that which I feel is released to the ears and minds of those to whom I speak.
And now my insides bulge and pulsate alternatively, with words muddled up such that they are an incoherent blend of thoughts and feelings.
And with each passing day, the river within becomes more boisterous, abandoning its lazy flow.
Soon the river will meet its ocean, and a thousand waves will come crashing at once upon the shore of my mind.
It’s sands will soak them up, and in due course become the sea bed.
It is dangerous to find comfort in silence, and yet the only words I am able to let out are those that have previously been released.
And in my writing, nothing is tangible. And in my mellow, nothing is justifiable for complaint.
Niger and Benue retracing their steps gradually, that they do not confluence as much as they backtrack.
Have you seen a river flow backwards?
Crawl back into your shell and wait for the ocean to spread its heavy sheets over your being.
Are you even a swimmer? No?
You drown then.
“Are you okay, my love?”
Forget about me, tell me about you. Teach me your ways, for I cannot see them in action.
Tell me, please, about your rivers and how they flow…
are you close to the ocean? are your waves upon you?
Teach me, please, about the things you think about when you’re present in flesh, but absent at heart.
Or is your ocean made of fire, and does raw molten magma burn through your blood vessels ? Tell me, please, what is it’s fuel then ?
The warmth of spring is … sigh, what you once were. Now you are neither hot nor cold.
On one end, winter is coming.
On another end, a volcano is erupting.
Not every unknown destination needs a map to be accessed. Certainly not this love.
Head zero degrees North, and leave your compass behind.
Are you okay, my love? Tell me, please.