Dear Heart,

I know that you are tired, because I am tired too.
I know that you are fragile and hurting,
-I can feel the hopelessness in your fading beats.
I tried my utmost best to take care of you in the little ways that I knew how
But still, you are slowly bleeding out

-I failed… I failed you.

One day in the future I will get the courage to ask you for that undeserved forgiveness,
The forgiveness that I cannot seem to even give to my body,
And I hope that on the day, I will be able to beg you for that same pardon with the humblest of hands.
I pray that when you see the scars on my swollen knuckles, you will not despise me,
Instead you will look at me with pity filled eyes
And tell me that my sickness, this awful sickness, was never my fault.
I know that you are scared, because I am scared too.
But mostly I am scared for you,
For I am not getting better am I?

Dear Heart,

I am so sorry for letting you down,
For treating you in the most indecent of manners,
For all the permanent bruises that I have given  you
…And for the damage, and what unspeakable damage I have done unto you…
 I am monster.
I know…I know that you are exhausted,
But I don’t know how to ask for the help that you need.
I have forgotten how to speak truthfully and honestly about how much it hurts
How do I tell them what I have done to you?
You deserve better.
But I am not the better that you deserve
I am the ****** luck that you got stick with
And for that I sincerely apologize.
You deserved much better.

Dear Heart,

I cannot promise to help you
Because deep inside of me I know that I don’t have the strength to.
I cannot save you,
And for that I am sorry.
The truth is that I have forgotten how to be free.
I don’t know how to any more.
I somehow un-learnt how to keep in what I take in
But no matter how many times I purge my sins and ask myself for redemption,
The little morcels of guilt always seem to remain in the very centre of my gut.

Dear Heart, 

This punishment was never aimed at you,
But you deteriorated and withered from it none the less…
You should have been treated with more respect
With love and care…
Please grant me your resolve
And give me the serenity to accept all my imperfections
Please tell me that you forgive me.
We are a broken pair, both you and I
-You we were never meant to suffer
But you did
And you are still.
Never forget that you are precious to me,
It was never my intention to hurt you in the torturous ways that I did…
Your pain was an unfortunate side-effect of my selfish inability to be free
And for that I apologize,
I apologize for the unbearable inconveniences that you have been forced to face
Please find it within you to forgive the mess of host that I have become…

                                                                                                                Yours sincerely,   

By: Lulwama Kuto Mulalu

You shout and scream
Angrily saying words that you don’t mean
And in the heat of the moment
You’re only looking to burn everything that you see
Because you my love, are an Arsonist
  
You and I are tangled in a web of miscommunication
Whereby you speak a different kind of English-
A dialect where I hate you translates into I love you
And the bruises that you cover me with,
Are just secret poems that you leave on my skin

I don’t understand the poems though,
For they were poems written in an ancient alphabet;
A one that is undecipherable to the rest of the world-

Only because you are the misunderstood lover
That is speaking in tongues that no one has heard yet

So I laid there bare as you read them aloud to me
All broken souled and on your knees,
And I saw the shame in your famished figure
While you stuttered and recited your apology.

You always told me that you loved me through a broken telephone,
Why?
And made me promises that I knew could not be kept,
Why?
I heard you say that that time, was the last time…

But all that your words are are simply tongue twisters
In a perpetual game of Chinese whispers

By: Lulwama Kuto Mulalu

Dear soldier,
Though my heart is a warrior
It’s been broken one too many times
By the broken people who tried their very best to fix it
I am a lonely traveller looking for a home
A home for the leftovers
For those that were left over during the long walk for freedom
But freedom is a hard fruit to come by
Especially for those seeking salvation
A new foundation
To lay their fallen bricks anew and start over again

I’ve heard that silence is concession.
Though I guess that the other day when we kissed in silence
I must have miscommunicated my affection towards you
Maybe I will wait for you there by the riverside then?
Where the air tastes sweeter than the fruit life bears
Maybe there both of our heads will get dipped in the purest of waters;
And maybe then will we be saved
Maybe the Baptists can convince you to take off the pain you wear so well-
How it hangs so loosely on your fading shoulders.
You used to be so big and strong
But you are getting so thin now my love
I asked you to eat
But you told me that freedom was only for the forgiven
And that?
That was a hard fruit to swallow

I wrote you a letter the other day
Written in an ink so peculiar a shade of red-
The richest of reds, though only fit for a soldier such as you
I came home from the forbidden forest with a basket filled with a variety of fruits:
Love
Freedom
Happiness
And most importantly forgiveness
I offered you the entire basket for it was a basket for the hurt
One for Soldiers such as yourself
I begged you to eat because it was too painful to watch you whither
But you looked up at me with those heavy- same-tired eyes
And told me that you were leaving.
I guess the fruit I bore wasn’t ripe enough to be consumed by sinners yet.

Like a caged bird sings a song of sorrow,
I too shall sing many lamentations in your honour
I will tell the people that you were braver than most,
Even though I felt your fears when our hands touched
I will tell them that their father was a fighter
A soldier is what I will tell them
And when they ask me where you are at the dinner table
I will tell them to wait patiently by the riverside for their Father
Because I know that freedom is a hard fruit to come by
Especially for worn down souls such as yourself.


By: Lulwama Kuto Mulalu