Poetic Imaginations

Its February

its february, the universe sings
lullabies to lovers, through the stars,
the moon, and sun rays, iluminating
hearts and granting wings to grounded
hopes and dreams, to once again soar,
and love blooms into forgotten spaces,
where misery once found its home.

its february, and love is a spring
that revives romance, while sipping,
smile sweetened coffees in the morning,
it softly breathes its sweet fragrance
into the atmosphere, inhaled by song birds,
and the trees gracefully dance
to the love scented breeze.

love cradles hollow spaces,
and there's no hiding it, because
blushed cheecks give the secret away,
you're a flower, loved back to bloom,
as february spills rushes of healing
waters into the crevices of your heart,
the romance of rain meeting a desert
turning barren into bloom.

Lundi Ncuthu
February 02, 2025

"The same men who have clipped the wings of their women, will say they prefer the ones who can fly"

Su***de note

I have been praying almost all my life, in heart and sometimes out loud, words accompanied by an ocean of tears, sometimes just silence because I didn't want to let off the storm that was boiling inside me, my mother always reminded me not to howl at the elders but sadly that night I had nothing polite to say, so I just sat there in silence, and that was my prayer for the night, as I watched the universe overwhelmed by darkness, and then I thought to myself, "how fitting, that I am sitting here watching an almost perfect resemblance of my own life play before me". I have been plagued by darkness almost all my life, but sadly for me there's no prince in shining armour to save me, there's no sun to offer a reprieve. I've tried everything except to kill the host, hoping that with it the darkness will fade away.

I don't know who I am writing these words to, but maybe I feel like I have to travel light, I have to do it right this time, maybe this one last prayer, I have to hand deliver it myself. How ironic, that I have endured storms of sorrow, heavy gusts of depression that threatened to sweep me off my feet, and only to die by a knot fastened by my own hands. I have to escape this nightmare, maybe I'll wake up at some hospital bed, hearing my father's voice echoing through the walls, saying, "doctor! doctor! he is waking up, look! he is trying to open his eyes". I wouldn't even want to know what happened. because I like to think, maybe I am the one who's been asleep all these years, maybe he is worried sick, sitting next to my mother on my bed side, as I am here, trapped in what resembles life in its stage of decay, fighting against demons, maybe the light that keeps flickering in the distance are their voices guiding me home. whispering, "do it!" As I tie this knot around my neck.

~Lundi Ncuthu