Yesterday (Saturday) had to have been one of the most hectic days of my life, yet I spent most of the day sitting on my bed. I’m part of a team that’s trying to bring something fresh and fabulous to the health care sector in Nigeria and I had the responsibility of doing the initial leg work online, we’ll talk it a bit more later.
I was also supposed to work on the series I’m currently running here, Pendulum and Retroviral chronicles on chynanu.blogspot.com but inspiration was playing hide and seek. However I wrote another story which was inspired by a cover of one my favourite songs Kiss from a rose.
Kiss from a rose
She couldn’t remember how old she was the first time she heard Kiss from a rose, six? seven? It didn’t quite matter. What she remembered was the visceral reaction it evoked, she felt like she’d been flayed and the exposed muscles and tendons soaked in the concentrated juice from the coca leaves that line the Amazon even now. Her chest tightened, she could barely breathe, she wanted to die, to live, to just ride the crest of the waves growing in her heart.
So she spread her hands and flew, above the earth, past the moon to the place where spirits danced and loved with the intensity that caused typhoons and hurricanes on earth. The song was still playing in her head when she opened her eyes, she was still flying but she was fascinated the beauty of the plane she found herself and the dancers who had drawn her attention.
She went to the one with the kindest eyes, he had only two of them in a place where every one had at least six. Their lips did not move but their eyes waltzed, tangoed and mamboed, when she gave him her right hand, he took it and they walked to the garden in a silence that felt sacred. The plants stroked her face with their tendrils, they buzzed and chattered while plants from the furthest corners of the garden glided over to look at her for themselves.
He opened his mouth and his teeth was the same hue with the soil, green so dazzling that she had to shield her eyes. Her ears didn’t work, it was her heart that sent the signals to her brain. She opened her mouth but found that her tongue didn’t work either, again it was her heart that was their bridge.
He plucked an orb from the air and she giggled in delight, he placed it on her open palm and motioned at her to look into it. She saw a yellow sea frothing and foaming with fishes playing their guitars, harps and violins on the surface of the water. She smiled at him before bending her head to look at it again but her smile vanished when she saw her mother calling her name and walking to her room, he tapped her shoulder and drew her to him to hug her tight and kissed her forehead.
When her mother opened the door, she found her asleep on the carpet with Michael Jackson’s Human nature playing on the portable radio that the girl liked to bring to her room even though it was her brother’s property.
There were times when the memory of that afternoon seemed a little too fantastic, when it seemed like a memory spun by the imagination of a child who watched too many cartoons. She never spoke about it to anyone, people had been committed to psychiatric hospitals for less and she wasn’t willing to be taken for endless deliverance sessions either.
In her dreams, she sees him sometimes. Oceans, mountains and volcanoes between them yet their hearts would link, connect and even shame the forces that kept them apart. She carries him in her heart and waits for him till this day.
PS: This was written under the influence of Katherine Jenkins’s cover of Kiss from a rose.