Personame’s home

From the corner of the  computers screen

a voice is coming

clean and Royal,

enchanting spectrum

of words and sounds.

Cheerful edges

sadness at his heart.

Don’t go  there

he tells me,

commanding  blissfully

his truth.

Don’t go there

I shall not add words,

he budget my punishment

(if  I sin),

don’t go  there,

he demands with no hope.

I listen to this voice,

with no pleasure,

lowering my head

to its virtual depth.

I shall walk in the way

I was sentenced to

a trail of faults and  pleasures

and growth.

I shall walk it twice more

using my souls map

and wont come  back

for your wisdom and mercy

“You listen to me girl , it aint worth the energies you’re spending on this weirdo. Better find yourself another macho, you know the guy I told you about from work. He is so the mr right for you….mmmmmmm I heard is Mr big too….”

Sitting with my 3 girlfriends on the Jubilee line from Canary Warf to Stratford, I learned what women learn every day and forget every day. you’re girlfriend and mother always right.  They know better than you, they really want you to be happy. They are not you.

They were 3. I felt immediate need to sit between them. The sound of their intensive chat, their colourful appearance and their girls bonding attracted the few people left on the line at this time of the night, when most English people are preparing for the new week, and the last people to come from a last drink in the city, have already left the train in other stations. They were 3. , listening to them you may thought a whole group of teenagers were sharing a ride after a school event. But only 3. the one in the middle was the pretty one. That girl everyone wants to sit next to, to absorb a bit of her beauty. Having 2 with her it was perfect.  She was well shared , and her beauty was enhanced by their admiring looks. Wearing blue denim, fitting her perfect athletic figure, a small very tight black top with lacy collar, and little fashion heels, she was the black queen of the Jubilee. she had an afro du, perfect cut and fresh curls that shivered gracefully every time she nodded with agreement to her girlfriend on the right. A large woman, around 26 years old. Same jeans, 10 sizes more and the ability to match every possible colour in one t-shirt. You not only “listen to me girl” as she demanded in every second sentence coming out of her very red silky lips. You listen to my t-shirt as well. I listened carefully. I listened not so carefully. All 3 of them noticed I am listening. They noticed I needed a girlfriend, one that will tell me everything I need to hear and everything that I really don’t want to hear. About him. About us.

I never listened to my friends before. My instincts always made me fall in love with the impossible , and once the impossible was possible I always felt bored and went away. The one time that the impossible was becoming the great love of my life, I found that life made it impossible again, unless he will come and claim me from this earth.

I listened to her telling the pretty girl, Shayne, to be smart this time and choose the right over the impossible. I wanted to hug her instead; her beauty deserves the right and the impossible as one.

The third friend on her left wasn’t yet taking any role. Maybe she was the listener, but gazing at me gazing at them I didn’t know if she listens to her or to my humble desires to join them. She had older features resembling the pretty one, maybe her older sister, who already been hurt in the past not listening to the smart one. As me she was wondering in a land of other peoples love tales. Comforting her self in other peoples storms and decision making, as to avoid for a short tube break her own decisions of her own heart.

At West Ham They bursted in a rhythmic laughter, 3 female voices who found a release talking about one of the former lovers of Miz pretty. The one that was not impossible or right. The one who was in between, like my best friend and lover I left back home. I felt ashamed of their laughter, and not so pretty anymore.

My new girlfriend on the left noticed my regretting silence and held her friends arm as to ask her to be less hysterical and respect the other feelings In the carriage. Stratford was welcoming us with quiet tunes of an empty station. The recorded request to mind the gap never felt as appropriate as in that moment,

her deep dark eyes got my attention. as always on my Sunday ride on the central line I look for faces I can relate to. Being away from home, you tend to miss your mother all of a sudden, and you search for comfort in eyes that remind you of her. I also like looking at women. it is comforting too in a strange way, it also makes the familiar monotonic ride more interesting. People in London normally choose to take a book with them. I cant hide behind words when surrounded with so many people. I need those eyes I can look at and find a sparkle that gets me dreaming of dark eyed countries, where sun is part of the family, when staring into other peoples eyes isn’t considered odd or rude. sometime those women’s eyes are the only part of their body I can notice, yet I find a story in every pupil that allows me to stare at it , and a dialog of women unspoken but full of content and memory.

She was sitting in the space in front of me , holding the hand of what seem to be her younger sister. Very pale skin , Giant brown eyes framed with thick straight eyebrows. You don’t see those eyebrows much around anymore. we pluck them over and over again, hiding what nature gave us to be more attractive to western males. her forehead wasn’t big but the bit of it not covered by a scarf was shining, transferring me very Sweet and pure emotions towards her. She had a small mouth with lower thicker lip that had no lipstick, natural rose. she looked in her early 20ies,no wrinkles or heavy thoughts in her eyes. her hair was covered but I could notice through her colorful scarf that it was thick and probably as her eyebrows black and shiny

I always wanted hair like this.as a child my mother was always afraid that I Ill have thin hair and so she took me to the hairdresser often and I spent my childhood with short hair-dues that had very strong roots but no flair and girly charm. when I grew up and it was evident that I have more hair than all my family together , I have struggled in growing it back, addicted to habits and found myself going through different strange fazes where I have punished it , cut it colored it , burnt it and it never went back to his silky shiny days as a child.

her sister noticed my semi shy stares, a young girl with similar features but not yet a woman , and I have switched my staring eyes to focus on their engaged arms and their clothes. both wearing traditional gowns , black long material, with delicate colored niddle pattern that matched their colorful thin bracelets and colorful earrings. Even tough the general appeal of their gowns was modest , not giving many details of their figures they were so feminine and glamorous in my eyes amongst the suits, skinny Jeans and cardigans around them. I could have noticed under her sister dress a pair of blue jeans.

I wanted to ask them where they are from, one of those Baltic countries perhaps or the Caucasus. but i couldn’t, I enjoyed imagining tough, being on vacation on my Sunday in a remote and exotic land . their quiet conversation was a soft and yet a rich melody of foreign words. I could have smelled the pot of rise and lamb with raisins and saffron fuming from their crispy dialog . they giggle every now and than , and their white laughter hinted they talked about boys. maybe a potential husband for she.

I envied her for that Naive look when talking of men. when did I lost mine?. I never lost my trust or lust, or my longing for the greatest love of all. but I knew there is pain involved in waiting and loving.

we reached mile end and I hoped they wont change for the district line and Ill have a few more moments of my adventurous travels in the silk road riding wild horses with native tribes bachelors. they noticed my request and stayed in the train mentioning Bond station louder than their soft normal tunes which left me 7 more stations to bond with my new friends

this story is a first of a few chapters of my encounters with women on my tube rides .