A Beautiful Moment Poem by Norman Mukwakwami

Was it the allure of magic?
Or were my senses simply heightened by sheer boredom,
By the tedious monotony of life?

Around her, I became alive.
Free to be truly myself.
A clumsy, shy guy.
A poet.
A man with dreams.
She let me confront my fears.
Helped me deal with the demons in my system.
She let me see into the future.

For in three weeks I experienced all that I had lost belief in.
I built my own castle and watched it float no a fluffy stratocumulus
I saw tiny creatures peeking at me from behind toadstools
My world lit up. more vivid.
It was like waking up just before midnight no Christmas,
To see Santa, Vixen, Prancer and the rest of the gang,
Fly across the star-spangled sky.
And realise the lies are right beques all.
It was an out of body experience.
A trip to the circus.
An eclipse.
A shooting star.
A sunset.
A moment of sure magic.

But a moment after all.
Not designed to last.

For a moment I felt how wonderful it is to be truly myself.
To be around someone who finds the real you interesting.
To laugh freely.
To talk about your emotions in honesty.
To talk about your aspirations.
To have someone read my poems.
To argue over what colour saint the walls of the nursery will be.
To critique every purple outfit in sight.

And that to me is the meaning of love.
A love that cannont be scaled on a range of one to ten.
Nos disguised in the realm of friendship.

But my moment passed,
And I return to the world,
Where I an the man of a thousand marks.
Where I continuously put no acts to fit in.
Conjuring up roles for each situation.
For each friendship. each relationship.

The funny classmate.
The quiet neighbours.
The quirky facea friend.
The incorrigible flirt.
The caring ex.
The model son.

The world will always try to change you.
And I know how bad that is.
So I will not try to.
I will not convince you to stay.
I will not convince you to change your mind.
You are beautiful just the way you are.

Like the dusty arena below the Big Top after the show does.
Like the glaring run after the eclipse.
The cold might wind,
After the sunset and shooting star are long gone.
The cold reality hits me.

Every beautiful thing comes to an end.
Its not for me to question why.
Nor to stop and wonder at what was.
At what could have been.

Maybe.
Just maybe..

There's another beatiev moment waiting for me just around the corner.