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