The
Story Narrated
Just
as I was about to step out of his car
Came
the soft persuasive words…………….
“I’m
all ears……..tell me your story”
Instantly
my heart leapt forward in panic and kept
beating like a drum
What
an invitation to bitterness is this? I said to myself
Again,
why on earth would he want to hear this story narrated?
Is it
possible he could bring a relief to my aching chest?
Is
this an obsession of fate or an illusion?
Is he
going to change the story after it’s been narrated?
Or it’s
going to forever remain the “story
narrated”?
Questions
I have asked myself but answers I found not
Suddenly,
there was an echo, the resonating sound of my heartbeat
Cutting
through the marrows of my bones
With that
voice saying…..”spill it out”
The
pain to voice out a half buried secret of years ago was a core attack through
my platonic being which had being shrouded with innocence!
Slide
by slide, I unfolded the sacred secret of my solitude life
For
me it was a sin that the story be told
Because
in that story lay a stream of discretion that flows bottom up and up bottom
In it
lay the history called the sacred secret that shouldn’t be told
But
that listener called a “He” broke the yoke of secrecy on the “Mount of Ashiyie”
And
as the slides subsided, the heaviness in the narrator’s heart
rolled
out leaving the heart empty
Now
the listener understood who the narrator was
and
so appreciated the in-depth of the story
indeed
a story had been narrated on a cold windy Sunday night.
NB:
Sometimes, we need to give more understanding and appreciation to those who
come into our lives. Because there are those who come to listen to our story
and lend us their strength in our time of need while others decide to pass us
by after our narrated stories.
This
piece is dedicated to a dear friend.
I hope I will never give up in chasing my dreams. Even
if I fail, I know he’s there to regain my confidence and together, we’ll turn
silicon into gold