TESTAMENTS OF LOVE
The testaments of our love are not memorandums written on bricks of emotions,
neither are they nomenclatures that are etched on the souls of exuberance.
They are elements of grace tattooed on the sinews of our heart.
The testaments of our love are not relics of tempestuous odysseys,
neither are they abbreviated chronicles of prosperous sailors.
They are tales of nautical discoveries being heralded on land.
We had for long eaten feuds served by anonymous spirits,
drank the blood of greed, chilled, just to satisfy the hunger of our ego.
We had for long stroked the skin of indifference,
sucked the breast of doubts, just to satisfy our urge for safety.
Now, our love blooms like petals of daffodils.
We suck its nectar, we savour this moment, hunger creeps in.
Alas! We are now gormandizers of love & its aftermath.
Beneath the ambiance of Africa’s gigantic mahoganies
sits demons wearing turbans, smiling whimsically,
eating civilization & defecating bombs on the peace
enshrouded in the hollows of the Sahara.
They see life as a caravan meant for corpses,
Earth as a bivouac camping dirges,
Needful — no amount of mourning is satiable.
We are now a conurbation feeling the heat of hell from the anus of chaos; A prey living under the canopy of fear,
For the serenity of our caliphate has been tongued by ghosts of our past
& obituaries are now boils on the nudity of our street.
Save us, please.
The first time I saw her my heart quivered
like an obstinate dog plagued with fever
after succumbing to the bait of a deluge.
Then, in my eyes
her beauty was lustrous and delectable.
It even made my trouser snake wax in yeasty ambitiousness.
Not once. Not twice.
Lo! Like a lizard that eulogizes nature
with its nodding pantomimes,
then, my neck swayed in oscillatory recklessness
anytime I saw her sashay.
Damn! She was the definition of obsession.
But just when I decided to concoct my masculinity,
& expunge all traces of cowardice
so as to spur our amity to next height,
I discovered that her beauty was deficient in attitude.
She is now ugly.
Poems: Ajise Vincent
Image: Skeeze via Pixabay.com