Ella baby oku
Ella my barbie looking balm.

Like a raging storm, you came into my life.
I remember, Yes I remember how your touch felt.

Like the current which NEPA supplies to the banana island inhabitants, it fired up all the circuits within this tiny head of mine.
But it waned and later turned into the kind of electric current being supplied to Ajegunle residents.
Those set of residents who patiently allow the light official to climb the electric pole before bringing out their sharpened cutlass and brandishing it in a menancing way.

Like a newly acquired Ferrari cruising in the Lekki estate roads, your touch inspired me to glide seamlessly in the paradise of happiness.
But it later begun to slow down with time and became stagnant like that molue that is stuck in the Lagos traffic.
That kind of traffic where a person can confidently bring out her utensils, cook a meal of beans, sleep off, wake up and still realize that her car has moved only 3 centimeters forward.

Like a Briton oil worker who drives around the creeks without any legion of security guarding him, your touch gave me inhuman boldness.

That kind of boldness that caused me to walk out on Iya mi when the poor lady warned me about you.

That kind of boldness that pushed me to sell off my one of father's land just to satisfy your wish to get an iPhone 8.

That kind of boldness that pushed me to look straight into the pastor's eyes and tell him to go and jump into the lagoon, just because he advised me to come with you for a short deliverance session.

I guess I did not want rain to touch the salt-like charm which you prepared for me.

I guess, like the little Warri child who dreams that he was mistakenly chosen to go on a tour to Willi Wonka's chocolate factory, I was content with living in a farce reality and did not wish to be rudely awakened.

Much worse, I was like that 45k per month earning banker who takes a short nap around 2pm and dreams that Dj Cupid Otedola fell in love with him.

Much much worse, like Vic O and Speed Darlington dreaming to win the Best International Act at the Bet awards, I did not wish any pastor to 'come and pour sand sand for my garri'

Well, Ella nwa.
You have done your worst okwa ya?

You have broken my heart like the news of a fallen container at sea breaks the heart of an Igbo man.
You have shattered my heart like the taste of a stew which has no pepper at all, shatters the heart of a yoruba man.
You raised my hope high and dashed it like that child that sees a can of Pringles in his mother's wardrobe and opens it only to find a set of needles and threads of various colors.
You devoured my heart like that lady that attends the wedding of her friend's sister and discovers that the groom is her boyfriend of seven years.
You tore my heart into two like that little boy who pays 1200 naira for a father christmas show, races home to open the gift given to him by the supposed visitor from the North Pole (even though his reindeer was a black 504 car) and opens the gift to find garri Ijebu wrapped in white nylon mixed with sugar, groundnut and a vcd disc of Barney and friends.

Arrghh.
Bella o.
You do me strong tin oo.

But, I thank my God that I found someone who sewed my heart together.
I met one person who applied a healing ointment to my broken spirit.
I met a friend who held me close as I wept uncontrollably for the hurt you brought.

Ohh.
You thought I was joking when I told you that you shattered my heart?

I was a novice in the art called love.
I was a newcomer to the secondary school class where emotions was taught.
And I was a bloody jambite in that treacherous university called love.

You Ella.
You were the pirate that raided my ship and ran away gleefully like Bellatrix Lestrange after unleashing the death curse on Sirus Black.
You were the strong ekosodin chairman that indoctrinated me into the temple of sense with numerous thundering slaps that reconfigured my mindset.

Aye.
You did me strong thing.

But Jesus revived me quick.
For I had planned to feed my conscience with rat poison.
For I had already purchased a pestle and mortar that I planned to pound my conscience into paste and throw it away.
For I had already gone to borrow a match stick to set it on fire while sitting back and laughing with friends.

Beeni o.
I had planned to turn into a mindless pirate who would cart away the jewels of other girls.

Until Jesus showed and changed my life.
#Bashorun

Okontas.com

Please forgive me for not pasting yesterday, I am currently preparing for my exams. This one is for yesterday. I would paste the article for today soon.