Ufuoma Apoki's Blog - Posts Tagged "moments"
Would you dance?
Ufuoma Apoki
It comes and it goes . . .
The promise of the serene mind flow.
It's all a fleeting desire I know,
That in experience always goes stale,
Like a never-ending fairy tale.
And here it is again.
The sound of that famous tune,
That I hope, this time, wouldn't end in ruin.
But I dance to it anyway.
Who wouldn't dare take light steps,
Even in a dark alley down the path that leads to destiny?
If you ever do believe in such pious debates.
But I'm not just a who,
I'm one of the rares,
Who without much arrogance,
Admit are nearly extinct.
So I dance,
However and wherever it leads.
It couldn't be any worse I feel,
Than dancing to unknown tunes or indecipherable voices.
Wherever this path leads,
It's guts over fear,
Because the dark clouds get clear,
When you shake off the sheets of cold fear that hold you down.
So, please dance with me, my Dear,
Even if only for this moment,
Because we'll never just know,
If we'll ever hear such tune again,
Of pure beauty and innocence.
We should never have to say, "Had we known" . . . .
It comes and it goes . . .
The promise of the serene mind flow.
It's all a fleeting desire I know,
That in experience always goes stale,
Like a never-ending fairy tale.
And here it is again.
The sound of that famous tune,
That I hope, this time, wouldn't end in ruin.
But I dance to it anyway.
Who wouldn't dare take light steps,
Even in a dark alley down the path that leads to destiny?
If you ever do believe in such pious debates.
But I'm not just a who,
I'm one of the rares,
Who without much arrogance,
Admit are nearly extinct.
So I dance,
However and wherever it leads.
It couldn't be any worse I feel,
Than dancing to unknown tunes or indecipherable voices.
Wherever this path leads,
It's guts over fear,
Because the dark clouds get clear,
When you shake off the sheets of cold fear that hold you down.
So, please dance with me, my Dear,
Even if only for this moment,
Because we'll never just know,
If we'll ever hear such tune again,
Of pure beauty and innocence.
We should never have to say, "Had we known" . . . .
Naked
He is going to be naked just this once.
I know he said that the last time, but it’s almost impossible to put on any cover this time.
It’ll be long, he knows, before he gets this naked again, but when it’s ‘right’, he might gladly be.
Sincere apologies, I must say at this point, for whatever feelings these words will strike, good or bad, and the vagueness and uncertainty of his rant . . .
I guess it used to be much easier some time ago when all they’d do is just talk for hours (about nothing in particular) and not tire of hearing each other’s voice. He must confess it was much fun than presently when he has to scrutinize his every word to avoid the fatal error of slighting her tender feelings that has become so irritable.
The last time he remembers he had someone this special like you that he could talk to without all the pretence and façade was way back in high school—she could get him completely with the few and vague words he usually sputters.
This time, however, he was asking just too much many a time—psyching comprehension in his conversations, which are usually lacking in explicit expression the way other normal humans communicate.
And the feeling goes . . .
A common distasteful attitude, I have to say, that we sometimes exhibit is that we’re constantly searching for the ideal special scenario that we sometimes miss the very precious things that are close to us.
And he was certainly guilty of the grievous offence, but you can’t just ignore sparkles (even if they aren’t true to the end) when you’ve constantly treaded the path of long and loud solitude.
Somewhere along the line of this beautiful, heavenly interaction they (he, more appropriately) never defined, he had this weird feeling, ‘What if this good friend of his could be more than friends?’
. . . and that’s when simple things get beautifully messed up and complicated.
She’s been precious to him and one thing that scares so much sh** out of him is losing the precious things close to his heart, because they usually come by very rarely.
She’d probably dismiss this as an excuse to disguise the classic case of cold feet, but he’s simply just trying to mess up good things while trying to upgrade to the unknown better.
He still wonders though . . .
But he’s brave enough not to play the game, probably because he doesn’t have the heart to or he can’t just bear to see her get hurt.
Anyway, the deed was done, because in his mind it was already concluded. There was no going back.
You wouldn’t get the pleasure of judging the outcome, though, but he, however, thought it was a virtuous thing to do . . .
I know he said that the last time, but it’s almost impossible to put on any cover this time.
It’ll be long, he knows, before he gets this naked again, but when it’s ‘right’, he might gladly be.
Sincere apologies, I must say at this point, for whatever feelings these words will strike, good or bad, and the vagueness and uncertainty of his rant . . .
I guess it used to be much easier some time ago when all they’d do is just talk for hours (about nothing in particular) and not tire of hearing each other’s voice. He must confess it was much fun than presently when he has to scrutinize his every word to avoid the fatal error of slighting her tender feelings that has become so irritable.
The last time he remembers he had someone this special like you that he could talk to without all the pretence and façade was way back in high school—she could get him completely with the few and vague words he usually sputters.
This time, however, he was asking just too much many a time—psyching comprehension in his conversations, which are usually lacking in explicit expression the way other normal humans communicate.
And the feeling goes . . .
A common distasteful attitude, I have to say, that we sometimes exhibit is that we’re constantly searching for the ideal special scenario that we sometimes miss the very precious things that are close to us.
And he was certainly guilty of the grievous offence, but you can’t just ignore sparkles (even if they aren’t true to the end) when you’ve constantly treaded the path of long and loud solitude.
Somewhere along the line of this beautiful, heavenly interaction they (he, more appropriately) never defined, he had this weird feeling, ‘What if this good friend of his could be more than friends?’
. . . and that’s when simple things get beautifully messed up and complicated.
She’s been precious to him and one thing that scares so much sh** out of him is losing the precious things close to his heart, because they usually come by very rarely.
She’d probably dismiss this as an excuse to disguise the classic case of cold feet, but he’s simply just trying to mess up good things while trying to upgrade to the unknown better.
He still wonders though . . .
But he’s brave enough not to play the game, probably because he doesn’t have the heart to or he can’t just bear to see her get hurt.
Anyway, the deed was done, because in his mind it was already concluded. There was no going back.
You wouldn’t get the pleasure of judging the outcome, though, but he, however, thought it was a virtuous thing to do . . .
