- Post 11 November 2011
- Last Updated on 12 November 2011
- By Patrick Nwadike
Accept my hands in watered margin,
Lead me to parts unbeknownst,
O’ woman of the light,
Rock my bones till I cry for more of your love,
Like a nightingale, you sing swan tunes,
And make my ears bleed in love
These droplets are unhidden life.
I fall again in your fingers, in your unbeknownst steps,
And you seize me with a foreboding wish,
You stream my parts with golden tributes,
And what shall I call this…Mark Antonio in Cleopatra’s heaven?
Or Solomon inspired by the Queen of Sheba?
O’ woman of the day, if I had known where you lived, I should have come sooner,
So that my day will be unlike summers heat,
But I had to search,
And then I left your kinds screaming on the way,
Like ‘unfortunate’ widowers, they feel I bring them loss,
I cannot excuse myself, not sure what I controlled.
I cry not for another love, having found She, I began to live,
My timeless hope is not burnt,
My arm is not twisted,
All that went to market never came back,
But you stayed home to bake my beans,
O’ woman of the light!
Patrick Nwadike is a member, Writers Cave, Tokyo.