For The Love of God.

You do not remember why you fell irredeemably in love with her, but you did, and at the start, for the ‘first few years’, it all went fine— beautiful. Then by some wicked twist of ‘faith’ she withdrew into the arcane recesses of religion. She would try to lure you, for a visit at least, into this niche where she wiggled amongst her saviors. You would argue your case —that nothing should ever be in the way of something as sanctimonious as love—with Mercurial intensity. You would lure her out time and time again with the memories of your lips locked in infinite embraces under the showers of rain, with memories of stolen glances across reading room tables, suffused with charged messages of Eros that no word could ever convey. It was all to no avail.

The seven months you were together were short on number but so long on happiness and learning and growing that you both refer to them as years. You began to discover yourself, with her help. She taught you to love and to share. And love her you did. You shared in her laughter and ecstasy. When she had her painful monthly cramps, you were the dam that held back the flood of tears. She was your oasis, the well of happiness from which you drank. She was your fantasy; she was your waking reality. She touched you in a way no one had ever done. Ergo, when she made it crystal clear that her God would never approve of her keeping someone as faithless as you so close to her bosom, you were distraught; you were half mad with grief. You chirped helplessly and hopelessly, like a bird caged, that you had faith in a God, in one greater than us all, but it was the institutionalization of this entity you had issues with. It wasn’t good enough for her saviors.

You would be fine. You mumbled it to yourself a thousand times. You kuku harbored grievances against her anyway; she never cooked for you, she was too opinionated, and her deep sapience unsettled you at times. You were fine – for a week or so. Then you started to miss her, terribly, to miss those eyes with depths of innumerable shades. You never could forget the velvety feel of that honey hued skin that always radiated a beauty deeper than naked sight could fathom. In immortal grandeur, she would raid your dreams, time and time again; you would smell her amorous body fragrance and your heart will break again into a million tiny shards. What no one ever told you was how arduous it was to let go of love, real love. The heartache was always sore, ever potent.

You start to rail against God, or rather, religion. Religious zealots and proselytizers were at the receiving end of your roving madness; you lashed at them with all the pent up violence and hatred. Hatred so intense you had no system of calibrating or keeping at bay. You blame them, for all you couldn’t understand, for taking all luster from your eyes. It will never be clear why some plan was made in heaven to hurt you. You start to ask questions. Of the God you believe in, of the God you do not believe in, of her God, of people, of trees, why? No answers come whence from there.

You turn inward for answers. Was there something you could still do? Should you follow her into the fog of religion? Are you only afraid for your inheritance because your powerful father could disown you in the blink of an eye? If you follow her faith, that is. But no, you are no coward, you realize. The reason was simpler than that. You just never could understand this compartmentalization of God. And all the animosities, the grief that it has wrought; the categorization that hasn’t stopped man from murdering his fellow man for as flimsy a reason as not sharing his nationality or his God.

Shall you then hop on this bandwagon in the name of love? Shall you go against your inner judgments and principles? Of over the couple hundred gods that humans worship, is her God the one true God? Or are all gods true, rightful of worship? Should your search for the supreme one continue at the side of the one you love, irrespective of the dangers it might bring?

What shall you do? That is the question you ask me this very moment.
Umar Farouk

P.S. Christie may our stars not be crossed in the next life.

Hello Perry’s Tots family, we have a Guest writer today. *Drum rolls*

By now we should be familiar with Umar, this is his third feature here and amazingly today is his birthday.

Let’s show him some Perry’s Tots birthday kinda love.

Happy birthday Umar, live long and prosper in good health, joy and happiness.

Use the comment box below, wish Umar a happy birthday! 😀

If you’ll like to be featured on Perry’s Tots, send an email to, until next time, enjoy the rest of your week and love me with prayers. 

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  1. Heyy. Umar.. This is an amazing write up. At first.. I wanted to just scan through and be like Done.! But.. I took it slow and digested every bit of the words and I’m proud of u..

    We need you at I’m sure you will give us a detailed review.


  2. You’re gifted. Genius! Just genius man. Nigga you made me check a handful of words in the dictionary…hehe.

  3. Your use of Second Person Point of View to narrate gives a thrilling novelty to reading the story. Thought provoking too. For the love of God, this is an awesome piece!!! (pun intended). Tres bien Monsieur Farouk!

  4. From the use of second person that makes this story resonate in a unique way to the real-life conflict of love and faith, this piece is one of the best I have come across. Well done Umar, you have raised many questions and touched upon many issues those who have been at the crossroads of love and faith can associate with. Thanks to Pero for hosting such talent.

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