Echo By The Candlestick

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Birds tweeting outside my window,
my awakening, the morning calls.
A tune far from a lullaby,
more of a rising song.
I glance at the clock,
I realise my late rising,
shortens a day obviously long.
Ask me not,
for anybody that observed my behaviour, would know I was wrong.
What I did, I do not remember,
but to think of why I did it,
I will say never.
Irene has moved on,
an unhappy Kube has been born.
The armor of your love I yearned,
has been worn
The clothing of smiles I used to wear for Irene, all torn.
My life full of darkness,
all around a base of broken heart,
like that of roasted corn.
Have I wasted my time?
Was it worth the struggle?
I now drown in all this sourness,
a 7ft pool of lime.
I hear this ringing sound in my head.
I feel this  is vibration under me.
My thirst for the company of Irene,
still unquenched.  
Wait a minute,
it is actually my phone.
I answer it, guess what,
it sends shivers down my spine,
shaking every single bone.
It is Irene.
My tibia, my fibula,
like pasta,
one eaten by preachers in Rome.
She sounds worried.
She wants to see me
The reason, I did not hear clearly.
Who cares?
I will see her soon
The vision of my room turned hen coop, tries to tease me.
The sight of my fridge content,
leaves me far from content.
Half filled bottled brukina,
an african beverage I bought from madina.
Within minutes all bowls are washed,
I sweep my room.
No dustbin?
Under the bed it goes.
I leap from end to end,
putting everything in place.
Oh yes! I am one happy toad.
Irene is coming to my place,
she must be sorry for all the pain inflicted on me,
I must say one heavy load.
That guy must have left her wet with floods of worry.
I smile realising I am going to be her new foam,
absorbing every single tear.
No more brother Kube, rather kubey dear.
Finally, the loss of Irene my kubeila,
I do not fear.
My castle is now complete,
waiting to welcome my princess.
Our first date,
any impediment I delete.
I wait for that knock,
eyes seldomly glancing at the clock,
like I care less.
I finally hear it.
I say a prayer and I open the door.
Jah bless!
“Hello Kube”
her voice leaves me shattered.
I realise there is no brother before my name.
I welcome her inside like a mother,
or should i say husband rather.
My soul rests on the victory ladder.
I close the door as she enters,
My table set for two in the middle,
all set with me,
as fit as a fiddle.
“Wait, my parents are climbing the stairs”.
Am I hearing voices, or Irene drew my attention?
I thought it would be just us.
“Kube
My monologue is brought to a halt.
Why just two chairs?
two plates,
two candles.
Even the flowers on the floor,
though not double are “too” much.
Were you expecting someone?
Did you have plans?
I stand there with disappointment written all over me.
I told you about the evangelism right?
I stand there mouth wide open,   
I must have been so lost in the thought     of her visit,
that I regret being found in the reason.
I hear another knock,
that must be them.
I guess I will always be a brother,
as yesterday, today and tomorrow.
Just as our Lord God, was the same yesterday, is today, and will be tomorrow.
*sighs*
Poor Kube, Poor Kube, Poor Kube
these words echo in my mind,
as the sight of candlesticks,
I hoped will be a symbol of new beginning with Irene,
drum sympathy into my head.

Kube is served

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