Archive for July 2010 | Monthly archive page
The eyes that wouldn’t wander
By Laban Erapu
Yours were the eyes that wouldn’t wander.
We met and parted like strangers.
Strangers who would not forget,
But met again and again
As if by chance,
By passing each other and smiling
As thought to someone else.
What was it that led us,
The eyes of the crowd
To a lonely spot,
Where the eyes that wouldn’t wander,
Slowly rose and looked into mine?
What was this feeling that raptured my nerves
As your trim fingers
Linked with mine?
What power lay hidden
In those eyes
That wouldn’t wander?
I woke up today and I couldn’t see,
I could, but I didn’t want to…
See, every time I blinked my right eye a searing pain went through it,
So I didn’t want to see if the price I had to pay was so steep,
Some eye drops fell on my reluctantly opened eyelids and it felt like the Chinese water torture on these eyes that don’t even open under water,
The foggy, hazy, waterlogged vision begged for darkness
Played a game of Blind Man’s Bluff as I felt my way around my turf,
Doorknob, chair- thank God there are no stairs-corridor, empty doorway, turn right, sharp edge of bed,
Thought only thoughts of relief as the duvet went over my head
But the instinct of sight cannot be suppressed and my eyelids fought to flutter open in the darkness I had embraced,
Perhaps it was vain but regardless of the pain,
I knew it was Saturday morning and The Beat would be showing the new video from Muthoni or maybe T-Pain,
So I got out of bed and stood before my mirror,
Gently opened my left eye, pressed a hand on the right,
The image reflected back was either a Lisa-left-eye-Lopez or a Cyclop
But either way I would looked upon this world be I a thing of beauty or horror
But then I began to imagine living in a world of sound and taste, smell and touch but having no way to be amazed at the sight of the things
that worked these senses,
My world would be of things I could converse but their inner secrets would be paths on which I could not traverse,
I thought of little stupid things like not knowing when there’s a stain on my shirt or spinach in my teeth, which outfit or eye shadow didn’t fit
Having to dream of what a sunset looked like or a crescent moon,
And red, green, blue, purple, or whatever hue would just be words under my finger tips
My loved one’s smile,
would forever be a mystery
So I slowly dropped the hand over my left eye,
And silently bore the pain as I gazed upon the grey morning sky
© wanjeri gakuru
I’ve always liked them like good wine,
Patiently aged from crushed grape to bottled sweetness divine,
Hey bartender,pour me a tall glass of that sage,
I think I’ll dump the street swagger and swinging bling at the bus stage,
See I love his pin-stripped suit and salt ‘n’ pepper do,
This CEO of corporations and cool,
Been around the block…seen many suns…watched a thousand moons,
So these young saplings have got nothing on my tempered oak,
They cower in shame just staring in awe and shock
He’s an author…no apprentice
Penning books and volumes of new age Kamasutra,
He goes by the name Sénior Tantra
So when he beckons to me,swirling cognac,purring jaguar at the door,
I’m drawn to him,he’s irresistible!
Even though he’s really my age…eh only times four!
© wanjeri gakuru