The Bubble

USE THIS
We sought places, you and I, like theaters for the cheer
The corner seats were enough
To find seconds to weep meticulously
Under the guise of laughter. We laughed and confessed love
For her
And even under the terrible arrest of her eyes
We wouldn’t have expected her ridiculous attempts
At goodbyes

Those clamoring words eager to resurrect when the curtains opened
Or those tendons we snapped craving to witness and taste hope winking
Seductively from her lips
Our eyes galloped from the carnations of her lips
We hoped she found freedom, as a woman
But wanted nothing to do with writing about how
Light beams plastered her face as an artistic expression
Yet all she anticipated was the present, resting legs crossed
In a random posture

When curtains closed, we tripped over cliffs, mimicking crushed hearts, hoping to
Feel the touch of her fingers again
And we’ve been haunted by this itchy desire, flapping across our spines
For when she first left, her stare grazed deep inside us, and
We wouldn’t have known poetry if we didn’t feel the physical tingling feeling in our bodies
Some time ago, our rhythm stalled, hurling her into pillowy spaces
Gentle as
The heart. Yet like the time we spent hiding from love
We learnt to walk away, hoping that someone would say, “Hey, stop!”
And we would’ve swiveled back and landed on their arms
And asked how suffering fits into our desire of enduring it
But
We insisted on going home as if someone was waiting for us
Only for darkness to collapse into our hearts, prolonging the ache

© Eddy Ongili, 2016
Art by Khan Nova Via African Digital Art

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