(For Ukadike Chimma)
That day I was but walking on my path, full of self-confidence,
heading towards a purpose I had set from my residence.
My humble head bowed low, I pressed forward in a haste,
yet I was mindful lest I outrun my chance to court a waste.
Leaving behind the sights and all that my back had brought
to face what my way’d unveil, I prepared even to be fought.
Forcefully my head was raised, for something had beckoned—
it was an irresistibly pretty figure I saw or so I had reckoned.
I gave a pause, poised to find what the distance would unfold,
little foreseeing I would enjoy defeat from what I set to behold.
The more it advanced the lesser my endurance and my strength.
I trembled: it was the first adventure facing me from this length.
I am a young soldier though, at home, in a haste, I’d left my wit,
and now struck helpless by her soothing hit, I am no more fit.
Have mercy, spare me, for all my skills I have lost or unlearned,
or take a wink to look away while I address the desire I discerned.
If I am blessed to accomplish this task, I shall be more than glad;
but If I fall casualty to the defeat of the challenge, I shall be sad,
for I have never before retreated from a duet of this kind all in vain,
yet if I can use up all I have left, I shall not care to manage a gain.
Now she’s near so it’s time I waved her a stop to give my best,
since I’ve got two awesome things—this task and a school test.
To pass one and fail the other (or miss one) is going to mean a crime.
God, help me here with overwhelming words as my tongue I prime,
because I must not exhibit a repelling style or make a worse blunder
and be displeased with my waning military spirit if we’re put asunder.
Do you understand I can’t make out why I stand under your charm,
because it always takes place the other way round without any harm?
The ethereal lure radiating from this unblemished skin equals the cost
of your doting parentage, the root you grew from that mustn’t be lost.
Now you grow, grow and grow, while skeptics marvel as you soar tall
from the root of this tree that you must garden and see it doesn’t fall.
If you can disorientate me in this manner while I forget to remember
what I’m capable of, you deserve kudos from January to December.
Because of waywardness my tongue should give way to my clever pen
which is mightier than the sword and be the spokesman of wise men.
It adores the spotless teeth you flaunt as a sign of mildness and peace;
appreciates the dazzling light in your eyes that reduces one to a piece;
and promises to smear your plumb cheeks with deserving delight
by ensuring that you beam with dimples like the stars in the night.