By Ojo Blessing
Young damsel,Your innocent eyesAlmost bleach my complexion….
Your gazePierces through my heart.But you still call me a liar.Oh, because I am a poet?
Your naive heart believesAll poets are perfect liars.But how long will you clingTo this ungodly truth?
My words you called liesAre indeed brushesThat make your face up,Paint it smileyAnd caress your heartWith soothing flowsOf unending flow.
You have made my pillowMy poetic envelopes.Yet you are far off…
Come. Come closer.Closer and c-l-o-s-e-r…Sit! Wash your handsIn the poetic bowlOf my ink.
Sit! Sit and have for a mealForever…A well-cooked and garnished plate of wordsFrom a poet!