you

I find it a bit comish

that I had to leave you to miss you

when we were together

I cursed you with every morsel of my being

you caused me many tears

not physically ofcourse, it was the feelings you stirred up

the feelings that made me want to lock myself in a shark cage

at the center of the earth and be there alone

lost. forgotten. dead

waiting for my fossils to be dug up by anthropologists eons later

it’s funny how much I love you now

how much I yearn for you

I never experienced this side of you

nor this side of me

it’s like scales have fallen from my eyes

and i’m beginning to peel a new layer of you

different from what I’ve been used to before

and I hope you feel the same way too

that you can feel a part of me

you can see me, as a whole

not a half-blood you loved to loath

me, for not only who I am

but for who I am becoming

oh my I hope you do

because I want us to remember each other

not for the past

but for every waking moment

I’m imperfect. say you can appreciate my mess

and I’d be lucky enough to see yours unfurl too

Love, Your former muse.

Beard eye

Captain Beard eye is not like any regular pirate you’ve heard about before

He’s not a scruffy vulgar scallywag like the other sea robbers in the high ocean. He didn’t steal treasures or have an eye patch. He didn’t even have a seagull that gawked on his shoulder from sun up to sundown .

He didn’t squander his nights on laudanum and flute.

No beard eye is not like any pirate you’ve ever seen

His sailing ship was the whole earth. He’d would sail the earth through stormy waters. If sailors fell overboard, he’d send a rescue boat . With intentions purer than the fresh water he sailed. Sometimes the sea was foggy because the sailors disobeyed his commands, but that didn’t distract beard eye from his goal to teach them to love each other and him.

A night came during his adventure in the North ocean, A whirlwind struck the water into a violent storm, threatening to drown his crewmen. The sailors cried and whimpered and wailed. “Gather your courage men, the Lord our God will save our lives” Beard eye commanded. Some of his cabin boys hid under the rescue boats, while others contemplated drinking mercury.

But Beard eye held the wheel firm in his hands, and his tobacco pipe firm between his teeth. He sailed the boat as fast as his could, even though it had begun to sink. The crew had lost all confident in him. But soon, the ship was gliding from wave to wave because of the speed. Beard eye neither slowed down or wavered. And just like that the sails could touch the clouds. The sailors couldn’t believe their eyes. Perhaps we are dead, they mummered amongst themselves. But Indeed, the ship was flying over Africa. It landed somewhere in the Indian Ocean.

Hence, Beard eye became not only the most famous pirate in the heavens and the earth, but will be the most respected name for generations to come.

Some Love

Tell me your story”, he said

We sat inside the sparsly lit coffee shop

Watching as the rain carassed the windowsill with every trickling droplet

And it reminded me of all the times we’ve been here.

From our first date in this very booth to when we became official. I remembered how I devoured a steak burger on our second valentine together ( our first one, I will still shy and proper) . I kept a diary so i’d never forget what you wore when we were out. And when things went super good, like when you got your job, we’d cackle and clink our beer glasses here too. When we got hitched, The house got free drinks on us and I danced ontop of this table like my feet would never be able to move again.

I remember the things you taught me, like the glass being half full and never half empty. And as I try so hard to cling onto the strands of optimism you instilled in me, an even sharper pain disrupts my spirit, reminding me that since two weeks ago, I will never see you sit in our favourite booth, at our favourite shack, since the accident that stole life from you.

This downpour is much like the tears that keep my eyes swollen. And even as I look up, the man sitting at your place with a gregarious smile is but a councelor that askes me everyday how I feel.

Well I feel like the thunderous clouds heavy in the sky, tormenting the people unlucky to be unprotected against it’s wrath. I feel anger at my own feeble nature. I wish it was me and not you, for you would have coped much better than I ever could.

But even at my weakest, i know that you would be proud of half the woman I am without you.

“Na ja”, I started to tell him, “some loves unfurl like a delicate winter flower, coming into full bloom in obedience to the peak of spring, others begin like a ferrarri going full throttle in switch gears that never runs out of diesel and ours — well ours was like a blip on an electrocardiogram that spiked high and never wavered, until one of us started to bleed and fade like an unblotted ink on a page.

The Garden

It’s the beginning of yet another week, I know

I know the dark calls to you sometimes

I know you walk down roads you know you shouldn’t

I know you observe your reflection through a jumble of shards

I know you’re worn out, tired of reliving patterns of painful choices

I sense you feel hollow at times

like life is teasing you, dancing in front of you,

but escaping you somehow

i know you live in the disconnect between where you are

and what’s happening outside of you

i know how much it hurts to live there, in the divide

between what you feel you are, and what you wish you could be

The sun has kissed your skin and you have inhaled it with complete trust

and you sometimes move without knowing what’s next

at times it feels paralysing to live with yourself.

I know you’ve worked so hard to control the outcome of your life

that you forget to meet yourself in the quiet and breath yourself full again

that you live in the shallow end and you forget to go deep,

breath deep ujjayi

you forget there is wealth of abundance and trust in you

i know there are places in yourself that you do not love

the parts you wrestle away

you visit them them from time to time, hoping they’re not there

i know you long to live in bliss

and when you arrive there you are so alive as if everything around you

is telling you yes, you’re home.

but i know shadows come while you’re asleep

and drag you down the familiar landscape of fear

I know you wonder if the light will ever return

because you’re tired of this upbeat dance between the two worlds.

you’re learning to taste heaven, grown wings

you’re accepting the difference

between sun soaked mornings and dark forests

you are human my dear and are allowed to be in both places

you are not damaged

you are not failing

you are allowed to be lost in dark rivers

be gentle when doubt comes, when fear chokes

when darkness debilitates you

spend special care to cultivate the garden of love when you come across these dark corridors.

know that you are offered the chance to tend your garden

the dark offers you a chance to love all the places you’d never dare

all the places you curse

where we deprive ourselves of love is where we need it most

when the dark comes , tell it what it what it wants so badly to hear,

You are loved.

Every form of Love

If love was a palette

it would have a secondary hue

mixture of red tinted with yellow

warm and affectionate like the sun reflecting off the red sea

If love was a song

It wouldn’t sound like an earworm

a mixture of jazzy blues and trap culture

like a glitch in time that couldn’t be perfectly translated

if Love had a frequency

it would bounce off a high cord of vibration

above the energy of gratitude

but slightly below the quintessence of peace

if love was a person

they would touch, feel and gift love freely

probably die on a cross to proof

he bleeds human but with a glorious heart

if love was a book

it would be on every library shelf

a real page turner packed with unpredictable desire

probably earn the best selling book of all times

if love was a movie

it would be a classic animation

featuring magic and wonder

chasing the audience to tears time and again before the end credits roll by.

If love had a silhouette

It would be broad with a soft touch

hard yet distinctly malleable

like a night under the Cupressus tree

If love was a flower

It would be a purple orchid

the envy of hummingbirds in a wheat field

buds paddling through the sunny day’s breeze.

If love had eyes

it would triumph fear’s greyish mirage

hopeful and late at it’s owns wake

bibbing in shades of black and white

Though to be honest

I don’t know the scent of love

I couldn’t describe him if he was my mirror reflection

I may have never felt the way I imagine it to be

all I do is fantasize in shades of black and white with grey borders.

Sincerely, your non-lover.

Sexual Telepathy

Dear Motown Lover,

We’ve been gambling in dangerous territory for a while now. Submitting to the flirtatious hands of seduction as I throw my chin up and toss my shoulders back. Seemingly intoxicated on laudanum and each other’s high coos.

My back pressed against the counter top, as you slow grind between my fleshy thighs. Remember that one time we tried it with head stand as your hand cradling my buttocks? Explicit memories on the stairs, in the car — and really everywhere in between.

Then there are times when we play it safe —not too safe, abandoning our thoughts on another astral plane, where we sorta resonate on a wavelength. Confined to the pleasure of a telepathic game.

One thing I know is there’s no compass to measure the latitude  — no device that confirms the magnitude of these nostalgic vibes.

I especially revel in getting undressed by your lustful eyes. Almost as much as I love the sight of your naked bum. In the end, we’re clothed with each other’s skin and the night.

We share our secrets with the creatures of the night and our wobbly bed, addicted to the scent of each other skin, so that even when the sky weeps and we’re caught out in the rain, there will always be something I look forward to.

I feel fuzzy at the thought of you and my jaw softens into a beaming smile. Though I’m not one for the thespian romance, the virus spreads even to the strongest of us.

Your kiss jeopardises the core of my buttress. I’m trapped in the cervices of our bond.

Yet I’m not willing to be saved.

One thing I know is there’s no compass to measure the latitude  — no device that confirms the magnitude of these nostalgic vibes.

I love to

I love to

echo with my wading breath

like fireflies in a foggy night

it never stirs me wrong

I love to

immerse into the sensations of my body

My chest rise and falls

My hands are open to nurturing

I love to

strike my heels on dust

let my muscles grow fatigue

true strength is found within

I love to

dissect ideas and stories

to instigate unimaginable scenarios

when caressing the keys yields art

I love to

press my eyelids against each other

Only then will life reveal itself

then the world melts into something wondrous

I love to

notice the synergy of vibrating energies

It is neither created nor destroyed

it merely changes state like matter

I love to

invite love into my heart

give more than receive

Abundance is a choice after all

I love to

relish on the future

simplicity is in life and it’s questions

why worry about  the unknown?

I love to

connect with my one  true father

The keeper of my  peace

Wisdom pours through him

I love to

make fun of my spongy bunny

I look at him him and suddenly

life becomes  a lot less serious

There are too many things l love

like soaking in a bath with amazing scents,

or talking with my love

These blessings are copious and innumerable.

I’d love it if you decide to share this post to your social media circle. Love and Peace. Idara.

The Inn-keeper

Fellow Bloggers and beloved readers, I want to wish you all a merry Christmas and briefly thank you for what an awesome year this turned out to be.

While the story that I am inspired to post is not your traditional magical Christmas story, I hope you’ll enjoy it still. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll explain why.

For now, merry Christmas and a big Thank you to you all


She worked from dusk to dawn, Monday to Sunday, January to December.

She was the host of the best Inn in Calbury. From the moment she could a hold a broom, she was destined a care-taker to be. The whole town, young and old, sick and healthy, rich and poor found shelter in the inn .

Her rooms were neat and cozy. From basement to attic. It had beautiful ornaments and an aura of love. The best room there was Garrett, man could discover the entire city; night lights, river and Calbury’s castle.

Guests came from far and wide, willing to pay millions to lodge in garrett, yet the Inn-keeper never gave out the room. The key stayed around her neck, like a precious stone, or something far valuable

The inn-keeper would visit the room, twice in a year, On New year and Christmas day.

The inn-keeper was once a vibrant woman, her son was her companion and peace. She spent every waking minute with him, and he loved the inn as much as she. Garrett was his favourite room too. He’d stay there whenever it had no occupant.

Then one day, a grave tragedy occurred. He’d seen the giant Christmas tree light up in the city square on Christmas eve but wanted to watch the fireworks too, not confined behind the room’s window, so he climbed out the window and sat on the roof. When the fire works was over, 2 hours past midnight, the boy hurried down from the roof to wish all a merry Christmas, but his foot slipped on icy snow and down he fell, 6 meters hitting the hard cobble-stone below.

The devastated Inn-keeper trod the heavy snowfall, the clinic was closed, she had to visit the Doctor’s home.

“Leave me alone, it’s a holiday! if he’s meant to, he’ll wake up soon”

Then she took him to the priest so he could pray for her sleeping son.

New year’s day was the day the doctor told her there was no way to save the boy. So she took him to the garrett room, swaddled him tight and lit some candles as he slept.

No day was ever the same for the Inn-keeper without her son. She toiled day and night, January to December to cater to other’s need and readily love them. Except for those few hours on Christmas and New year’s day, she never took a break, not even for lunch.

Yes, no price could be placed where her precious boy laid in rest, even till this very day.

Pure love and Poetry

Love.

Love sweet as a honeypot

Love that entices and wounds me in it’s grip

Pure love that oxidises, only getting darker, gentler, more poetic

as it vibrates in a frequency above all energies

Resonating like minds together, I mean twin souls

like twin souls I’m designed to resonate with you

Feel what you feel

Ache where you ache.

If you would let me,

let me feed you this poetry,

Poetic love as seasons change

Swaddle you in my arm long after the summer solstice is gone,

gone like the plague of jealousy

replaced by pure love and poetry.

Let me vibe with you across planets and dimensions

Inebriate on the language that rolls off your chest

and roll on your chest, like everyday is the last time.

I’ll taste your tongue like whipped cream

and smell your warm cheek as it it were waffles.

Love like the largest north star could not encompass

The magnitude of two exploding meteors showers.

If love had a sound, it would be jazzy blues

with a hint of funk as four saxophones breath out in one voice

and an undertone of bass, soothing enough to melt diamond hearts,

your colour and my palette, compatible.

Gliding on wings, till infinity and beyond

I would lose myself inside of you again and again,

till you find me.

you reach your arm around my waist, so boldly

Your souvenirs are the scratches I leave on your back

as you eat the fruit of longing, the peach of intellect

Sip from the dark berry, supple and juicy,

till your thoughts slow grind with mine, meditation.

Let me meditate in you for a while longer

on an bed of clouds in a warm mood, Chiado vibes

until pure love and poetry intervenes, yielding climax

and you’re heaving coz you’re out of breath, me too.

Then we can lie in a glisten of sweat, unashamed

because pure love and poetry is healing in motion.

How I got engaged

 Those video archives on the internet always seem longer, but my proposal took less than 2 mins, and now I have a new treasure for my memory box.

Our Beginning

We met 3 years ago on a dating app. Neither of knew what  we wanted, but a glitch in the time-space continuum turned two strangers into something more. We’ve had our fair share of turmoils, often breaking up for a varying lengthy periods. Despite being of the same age, we are polar opposites in more ways than one. I was emotionally unintelligent, whereas Viktor had a  more evolved thought process. Ultimately, My curiosity towards learning drew me to him. His objective views keep me grounded. We eventually decided to buckle down and figure out a common ground

The Nightmares

Since meeting my parents in June, I’ve had an inkling he was going to propose, which left me rather anxious. I had recurring nightmares, like Aliens possessing my body, forcing me to denounce him and creating an awkward scenario. In another, I was naked. Tired of the nightmares, I confronted him. We got into the details like the size of my finger and how the event should transpire. In the nightmares, it was public like airports or restaurants, and I wanted none of that.

Surprise Surprise

Despite eliminating one element of surprise, I still didn’t know when it’ll happen. When we arrived Lisbon last week, he told me he booked a boat tour. I pictured big bus sightseeing tour or something similar. I wasn’t even gonna dress up, then I saw him all suited up with his dressing shoes, so I changed everything on me. As a result, we were running late. 

As we arrived at the port, there were no big sight-seeing ship, instead we met an ocean skipper who took us to a sailing boat. I wanted to scream, he’d made me run out almost without a pair of earrings and it was just the two of us?  They could have waited since we booked the entire boat.

Let me sidetrack for a bit, I have a real time ( and numbers) disproportion. While my Fiancé would rather be always 7 mins early, I prefer to be there exactly on time, as you may have guessed,  this never happens as I’m always  late. Good timing is yet another thing I’m learning from him.

Boats are scary!

I got over it quickly when the boat started to move and the skipper narrated to us about the monuments. As we drifted father down the river, I walked (more like duck for fear of falling overboard) to the front of the boat to experience the full view. 

Perfect timing

He said he’d be right behind, yet he was talking secretively with our captain. I figured it was either about football or EU politics. Eventually he came at the perfect time… when the gust grew stronger and I got so cold. I hugged him very tightly. The song “moon river” came across my mind which translated into the poem I published HERE on Monday

I said Fix it

7 mins later, the sailor waltz over and asks us if we want a picture, I always want a picture when I look good.  we got up, me shaking like autumn leaves. In the next moment, he was searching his jacket for something, and I knew this was it.My reply to his question was “fix it”, a little inside joke between us, then I said yes.

Authenticity rocks

Later at the restaurant, he apologised for the size of my diamond. But one of his  most admirable qualities is his authenticity, something the rock on my finger glaringly reveals.  He could have bought Zirconia, or borrowed money from people in other to buy a ring bigger than his pay-cheque, but he stayed true to me, and most importantly to himself.

End note

It took less than 2 mins, but a lot of thought and planning was behind it, Some people prefer grand surprises, I got the perfect holiday gift I could ever wish for,  If you’re engaged, married, or have family who is, you have to share your story in the comments.

We’re leaving Portugal today and I’m so sad, but a part of my life will be connected to the river Tagus. Thank you for taking time away from your festive shopping to read my long ass story. Remain in his blessings.