Downtown Devils

She is innocent. She is herself. She is so innocent that her innocence screams all over the place. You can almost touch it. It yells. It yells the moment you see her. The innocence is a font of its own. She can be described well in terms of flowers and calm coast breezes. Her fragility is like the flowers of lilies by the riverside. It is like the breeze I desire in the noonday. Her fingers are small. And thin. And fragile. They are thick-thin. Just a little bit thin, but with tweaks of ladyishness. Her nails have no paint. Not that paint will spoil their natural feel, but that it will tarnish her statement. She has a statement - a statement I can see. A statement I can feel. You can see it in her eyes. In her eyes. Her eyes are tormenting because they remind you of a beauty you don’t often see on this side of the world. They are bright. They remind you of stars. They remind you of when you met Jesus. How He looked straight at you and revealed you. She is plain. You can see it in the way she moves her hands. The language of her body is not deceptive. She is sure of what she says and does. You can be sure of what she says. The movement of her lips reveal meekness. Mildness and meekness. I’m not falling in love. No. I already fell in love with another. I’m just describing her. Her dress says a lot about her mama and her moral code. It says that she only knows two languages: “Mama said” and “Teacher says”. Her weakness is impressive. You will admire her the moment you see her. Even tempted a lil’ bit. You can see her 'cheapness'. A cheapness you can’t buy. You somehow become scared of touching this innocent thing. She has ambitions and goals. She narrates them with passion. They are not all ‘potatoes-soup-and-rice’ thing. They are real stuff, dude/dudette...!
He is confident. He walks in a relaxed way. He doesn’t sway from side to side. He is so sure of himself that he makes you quiver a lil’ bit. He is not that masculine but is promising. He is a lot more than what I commonly see. Perfect. Composed. Well intended. Uncommon. I love uniqueness. And he has it. He is still ‘green’, but not foolish. He is a daddish kind-a guy. He has a heart of a rock. He ain’t a fad. He is real. He is not a freak. Girls can be sure that he keeps his word. He still apologizes when he does wrong. He knows how to control his temper. I tested it. I broke his best gems and voila! He just looked at me, felt like yelling, but later smiled. Cool. I don’t find that everywhere. I can assure you of that. He is principled. Takes good care of himself. Doesn’t move around too much. Dude is cool. Damn coooool. Did I mention he goes to church quite often? Even prays in private and lifts up his hands in Worship? Mhhhhhh...
Just until...
Downtown mania strikes. Until bleakness jumps over the fence and offers a ride. And mummy+teacher-so-and-so is forgotten and becomes trash material. Damped in the bin. Kanjo stuff! Until the rules are changed and tables go upside down. Until I don’t know nothing about anyone anymore. Until words are lost and tempo and pitch are out of control. Until the music loses life and rolls into emptiness. I can’t dance anymore. I can’t dance. I can’t yell to no tune. Life becomes a bad song. A bad core. Volcanoes are better. Life strikes in downtownism like a bug. Dirty, infectious and itchy! Music is sweet when you can get its next chord, but when it flops, it becomes tasteless. It edges into blankness. Even darkness. And dark music is as bad as that porridge I used to drink somewhere. You drink it but without liking...
I don’t know what happened. Or what happens. I don’t know. But I’m trying to. I don’t know what crawls into the innocence and surety. I don’t know. Really. Those fingers just change; and the perfection fades. The fragility is stolen and bitterness engraves a once pure soul. Things do happen, I say. I blame it on devils. Yeah, they should be devils. Downtown devils. They should be devils that creep stealthily in the night seeking for innocent blood. They should be opportunistic devils that grab and transform innocence into a stupor of madness. They should be working underground in some pinky labs. They should be vampires too – which bite and transform... Grrrrrrrr! They should be some ‘Team-Jacob’ or ‘Team-Edward’ kind-of creatures... that silently but steadily haunt these ‘Bellas’ until all they see is “I need to be like Edward”. Grrrrrrr! Again! Downtown devils. I get a paleness of the mind here. One smart creature, normal and thriving gets changed overnight with a flip of the page. I see Bebo Norman’s song ‘A Page Is Turned’ in a different wild perspective here... I don’t know... I think we should kill the devils. Why should they keep tormenting our lives’ layouts? Why should they keep diminishing our hopes and ambitions and keep stealing us? Why should they keep enslaving us? Afterwhile we may dance again to the right tunes... to the tunes of life made in the stars and hanging in beauty, over glory... And watch the flowers blossom... And watch the rocks shine with polishing and not afraid of the sun anymore... And drink the wine of purity and enjoy the moments of surety... I think we should kill the devils... or render them useless...!

So remember...
The world never turns around overnight without us knowing,
Nor do the stars dance in the night when we can’t know,
Life never whizzes songs or tunes we can’t comprehend,
Nor does it offer choices we can’t deal with;
There is always an escape avenue or an entrance to every place in life,
Whence you entered, you can come out,
Whence you sang and danced, you can mourn,
The road is two way – there is going, and coming forth,
Only the going comes forth; and only the coming forth causes meaning...

Sincerely,
Morris.