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Little Things that Make Love Blossom
I'm not a traditional poet
As you may think Wole Soyinka
Who writes in form and pattern
I'm only a man of romantics
Who love to paint words and polish lines
Until it becomes flower verse
They are not cast on a stone,
Or like gold, tried on fire
They're just free verses
They're the expression of my love
To you, Imabong, my dearest
I know you love to read my lips
When I say those sweet nothings
They are music to your ears
They are like a bouquet of roses
That bring satisfying feels to your heart
Of such unflinching devotion
These are the little things I do
To make love blossom
I remembered our walk in the clouds
When we flew like birds to California
How we painted the summer red
Beaten black and blue by stripes of the sun
And every night we slept like dead logs
After we have exhausted all day
Gallivanting the five stars
Yea yeah, that was when our love was young
And exuberant, such a juvenile delinquent
We ran around naked on the beach
Went clubbing all night long, every Friday
Drank alcohol, smoked cigarette
And woke up hangover, by Saturday morning
Ate junks from the restaurant cartel
Hamburger, shawarma, ice cream,
Anything we love to eat, we ate
But I knew, such feeling of invincibility dies with time
Such moments of madness we enjoyed, pass away with age
When I'm seventy and five years old
Doctors say don't eat this, don't eat that
Just be watching your blood pressure
Yet, I still found my heart pounding
When my grand children race off to school
And their parents, went chasing money everywhere
Home alone with the memories of my love
And the ghost of the years past
Rocking the chair
And humming old school songs
Copyright ©
Benson Chukwueke
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