Very, beautiful day.
Its afternoon. Sun is mild, for the day. Don’t know what it has been like, earlier. Only aware it didn’t rain, and the sun was out, and it was mild. But I was trying to beat a deadline. So, I was concentrated, working, deeply immersed in what I was doing.
Funny. My lover always complains at the level of that concentration. I seem to withdraw and immerse myself, totally into the work, the computer. And, when he tries to tell a long story, my mind is barely on him. He asks questions, and my mind is not on the answers.
Maybe it is good. Or not. Doesn’t make for a good relationship when he considers that I am ignoring him.
But, it has been eight long years. Coming to nine. The first flush of love is really much long gone. And I am still with him. He knows my warts. Where they are. And he is with me. I am grateful.
I don’t doubt that I love him. But I also hurt him, very much.
I took a nap, from which I am just waking. Felt that I couldn’t stay in any longer, not when there is so much light and beauty outside.
‘Can I compare you to a summer’s day?’
He was talking of the lover. That he was so fair he couldn’t compare him to the beauty of a day of summer. It is a day of summer here, and I appreciate the sun to which his sun could not be compared.
Will I ever be able to put the poetry of the day, of a soft
afternoon in words which can stand the test of time? Kampala
That is poetry, isn’t it?
It is not enough to write. Not enough to see what I see. But to trap a drop of golden sunlight on heavy green leaves, the roughness and brightness, and trap it like a diamond flashes. Something immortal, with some inbuilt value that will always be looked at and admired.
My words fail.
They fail to say what I would have them say. It is not enough to write them. I don’t want to immerse myself in the words. I want the eyes to look out, like I am doing now. To see the sun, the green leaves raised to its caress. Feel the slight wind that stirs and lifts them now and again. I am demanding of my fingers the cleverness and memory of the keyboard, so that they can write while my eyes take in the beauty. It is beautiful, and makes me wish to cry. Tears of happiness.
Much of this beauty is not something we appreciate. No. We don’t.
Just like me. Most of the time I am immersed in things. In ideals, in writing, in books. Just like me, I am drawn away from the contemplation of the beauty of our days.
Yeah, this country, my country,
is beautiful. Enduringly beautiful. Uganda
I of course see the rape of the land, and all the bad things that happen.
At the moment, I am immersed in a pet cause that has become more serious than I thought it could be. The ‘Anti-homosexuality Bill’. My life is on line. It is like something out of a thriller… a big government. A people that are not as bad as they are demonized. And, a majority that seeks to kill us off. Except that this is reality. And, I am one of the ‘evil’ ones.
To kill us off.
Serious stuff. Maybe it is very good that I can take some time off and forget. And look at the day, and feel the wind on my skin, and pause and let life like a stream of consciousness stream by me. I feel at one with the beauty of my world. I love it. I love being immersed in this wonderful time and place I call home.