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