Fascinated by her high pitched voice,
That resounded through the ceilings.
Like the chants of the chromatic birds,
That sang melodious tune on the Khaya tree.
Such a jolly, I envied.
The fella in the antithetical direction,
Made me lost my breath.
He sat straight with an air of cleanliness,
That oozed out of his physique.
I drooled under his tender velvety eyes.
I envied their love, but I was never fortunate
Love is not as it is known,
Some get drowned,
Others get throttled,
While the larger part sulk in anguish.
We are the result of a stalled affinity.
Love is a shrewd needle,
That passed a pound of bane,
Into my gaiety body in a passionate way.
Poisoning the remnants of hope,
That kept me waiting.
In the rassle of love,
One does not seek appointment with dysphoria.
It comes like the lucid sunshine,
Rising with piety and surprises,
To waffle you out of prospects.
Ill-fated love breeds contempt,
It procreates a throe when fudged on.
The path of love is not smooth,
One is bruised by its sharp edges.
Only the stout can survive it's wounds.
I fumed,
When the whirl blows a memory my way.
I gnashed in fury,
When the recollection of the past,
Rebounds fresh agony.
Love has never beamed at me.
©Balogun Fatimah Oluwatosin 2017
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