A Stroll Down the Street of Gold
A stroll down the street of gold
in a garden city rich with roses,
I saw poppies and lilies on a drill,
smiling like a bevy of beauties,
facing the sky. Soft gentle breeze
caressed wings of bees buzzing on top
the bloom: scent and sound waltzed
while honey dropped on lush lawns
as on black and white keys. Music
welled up, flavored with virgin
love in rhythmic flow. A rolling
expanse of orchards yawned; trailing
vines laden with clusters.
Red fluid dripped & rippled, buoying
to the shore of a vat, vast as sky.
I looked up: no sun, moon, or winking
eyes in the bald blue. No clouds
nudged up from sleep; no sparrows
searching for a summer perch.
Reeds bowed, spelled by the soft wind
from four ends. A white dove hovered,
alighting with a twig of red rose.
Eyes stole around, cupped whisper:
prize-giving time’s in session. Music
was fluid—serenade of a life in love.
Bright as crystal, the river streamed
on both sides of streets. Fruit trees
sprouted; fresh leaves budded and shot
out, bore fruits shaped like a heart.
Animals and humans fed on them;
I stood straight, looked straight,
turning like a turning wheel. The air
smells good, my breath, too, I mused.
We queued up, decked in pomp: silky
white, linen red, and gorgeous purple. Eyes on the golden crown, on the end
of a race—’rough and tough.
I looked as the scene rolled aside
for rows of mansions painted white
and red and purple. A man stood in front, clothed in white, in purple,
in red, handing out sparkling keys.
Mine! Mine! I held mine—pretty gold.
© 2017 Celestine Ikwuamaesi
Copyright © Celestine Ikwuamaesi | Year Posted 2017
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