A Long Love Song (001 - 010)
001
Harmattan on our village leaves its thick cover:
Siblings cling to siblings, husbands to their wives
But a robber of a thought my sleep seems to pilfer –
An emotion recently gave me the gybes.
Where did love go that the media endlessly
Would moan to us over it? Earnestly,
In market squares and streets, it’s stridently
Said love has gone into hiding so hopelessly
I’ve contemplated how probable is the fact
That love could just vamoose from everyone’s heart
002
When it has a day we celebrate in a year;
When most wear its symbols as necklaces and rings?
Who did put dear love in reverse gear
Or did we mix virtues together with sins?
When did gold start to submit to rust?
Did guilty take the apparel of just?
Who would help stop love smooching with lust?
If love is gone, to what do we give our trust?
They say now show don’t tell – this means this preaching
Quite sanctimonious folks are bored with hearing.
003
You don’t want to go there, I won’t go there too.
Yes, we’re keeping religion out of this
As it’s widely believed that a lot we rue
Is because it bites but pretends to kiss.
I’ve resolved this issue from that platform
I’d not let pass through so like a worm
I’d wriggle on a journey on pebble and thorn
To know why love on a toaster would burn.
It’s wee hours, the brown dove coos near my window;
I’m wide-eyed and restlessly clutch my pillow.
004
While waiting for dawn, I decide a song
With love as a theme soon I should write;
So for inspiration a trip quite long
To the woods and even city I should guide
My every stride – to know why it blew its top;
To know why in homes and streets it’d flop;
To restore it, what should be the swap
And how do we plant it as a verdant crop?
I’ve resolved once the bell chimes at dawn
I’d step out on a journey to write a long song.
005
The bell goes: ‘Kong-kong! Kong-kong! Kong-kong!’
I kick my feet out of my lonely bed;
I’d paint the essence of love in this song;
I’d catch it like the fish with a net;
Bring it home to assess its make-up;
From its grimy bottom to gleaming top
To know why some succeed and others would flop;
Some soar but like rotten fruits, others would drop.
I’m throwing a warm jacket on my back;
Slip into my shoes and pick up my knapsack.
006
I choose a good time of the year to step out –
It is the season of endless sunshine;
With wet leaves, I’d have less of a bout
Though my body would be covered with grime.
But complaints I won’t give of sudden rain
That descended and bogged down my train
Or drenched me to the skin and made me insane –
You’d hear a full report of the turns of the vane.
I’d tell why cock won’t stop chasing hen
And goat, though roped, would keep rioting in the pen.
007
Of course, I mention the animals for
As I’m leaving the village I hear their sounds;
I see light stream outside through a door –
A shadow on the wall and something she counts:
Two options stare at me, she’s up early
To cater to those she loves dearly
Or she’s up because someone technically
Has lost that touch – she’d lost him to the telly.
A bicycle swings from the yard to the street;
Oh, it’s the tapper – I halt my feet and greet.
008
Is it love that makes him ride miles and miles
To go tap for wine deep in the countryside
And bring it back in gourds as the men with smiles
And songs, clutching their cups, would let it glide
Down their throats and some become happy
And reel off their triumphs; and some ratty
Would reel off their woes sounding raspy
But this tapper would get hold of their money
For he knows what lovelorn men desire:
Something like water which burns them like fire.
009
The lovebirds drink too but stay merry
Around their partners but the lovelorn
Would seek hopeless mates who with they’d tarry
And share the bluesy songs of hearts quite torn.
The tapper is gone with the creaks of his bike;
In the dim light, I follow heading to the countryside.
Uphill and down, across streams and brooks, he’d ride –
In the same direction, I put my every stride.
With the burgeoning light of the new day,
Birds in trees the dawn chorus joyfully would play.
010
Are these awesome choristers not singing
Of love? I’m not sure or why as some see
The hawk; they squawk, scatter and swing
To hide deep in any fortress in any tree?
Or is love a class thing – sparrow for sparrow
And dove for dove for the hawk would swallow
Who dares cross the line? Therefore some wallow
In a different emotion – what’s its name we’d know.
But I’m only keen to seek out why cock,
Though he’d trip and fall, would crow round the clock,
001
Harmattan on our village leaves its thick cover:
Siblings cling to siblings, husbands to their wives
But a robber of a thought my sleep seems to pilfer –
An emotion recently gave me the gybes.
Where did love go that the media endlessly
Would moan to us over it? Earnestly,
In market squares and streets, it’s stridently
Said love has gone into hiding so hopelessly
I’ve contemplated how probable is the fact
That love could just vamoose from everyone’s heart
002
When it has a day we celebrate in a year;
When most wear its symbols as necklaces and rings?
Who did put dear love in reverse gear
Or did we mix virtues together with sins?
When did gold start to submit to rust?
Did guilty take the apparel of just?
Who would help stop love smooching with lust?
If love is gone, to what do we give our trust?
They say now show don’t tell – this means this preaching
Quite sanctimonious folks are bored with hearing.
003
You don’t want to go there, I won’t go there too.
Yes, we’re keeping religion out of this
As it’s widely believed that a lot we rue
Is because it bites but pretends to kiss.
I’ve resolved this issue from that platform
I’d not let pass through so like a worm
I’d wriggle on a journey on pebble and thorn
To know why love on a toaster would burn.
It’s wee hours, the brown dove coos near my window;
I’m wide-eyed and restlessly clutch my pillow.
004
While waiting for dawn, I decide a song
With love as a theme soon I should write;
So for inspiration a trip quite long
To the woods and even city I should guide
My every stride – to know why it blew its top;
To know why in homes and streets it’d flop;
To restore it, what should be the swap
And how do we plant it as a verdant crop?
I’ve resolved once the bell chimes at dawn
I’d step out on a journey to write a long song.
005
The bell goes: ‘Kong-kong! Kong-kong! Kong-kong!’
I kick my feet out of my lonely bed;
I’d paint the essence of love in this song;
I’d catch it like the fish with a net;
Bring it home to assess its make-up;
From its grimy bottom to gleaming top
To know why some succeed and others would flop;
Some soar but like rotten fruits, others would drop.
I’m throwing a warm jacket on my back;
Slip into my shoes and pick up my knapsack.
006
I choose a good time of the year to step out –
It is the season of endless sunshine;
With wet leaves, I’d have less of a bout
Though my body would be covered with grime.
But complaints I won’t give of sudden rain
That descended and bogged down my train
Or drenched me to the skin and made me insane –
You’d hear a full report of the turns of the vane.
I’d tell why cock won’t stop chasing hen
And goat, though roped, would keep rioting in the pen.
007
Of course, I mention the animals for
As I’m leaving the village I hear their sounds;
I see light stream outside through a door –
A shadow on the wall and something she counts:
Two options stare at me, she’s up early
To cater to those she loves dearly
Or she’s up because someone technically
Has lost that touch – she’d lost him to the telly.
A bicycle swings from the yard to the street;
Oh, it’s the tapper – I halt my feet and greet.
008
Is it love that makes him ride miles and miles
To go tap for wine deep in the countryside
And bring it back in gourds as the men with smiles
And songs, clutching their cups, would let it glide
Down their throats and some become happy
And reel off their triumphs; and some ratty
Would reel off their woes sounding raspy
But this tapper would get hold of their money
For he knows what lovelorn men desire:
Something like water which burns them like fire.
009
The lovebirds drink too but stay merry
Around their partners but the lovelorn
Would seek hopeless mates who with they’d tarry
And share the bluesy songs of hearts quite torn.
The tapper is gone with the creaks of his bike;
In the dim light, I follow heading to the countryside.
Uphill and down, across streams and brooks, he’d ride –
In the same direction, I put my every stride.
With the burgeoning light of the new day,
Birds in trees the dawn chorus joyfully would play.
010
Are these awesome choristers not singing
Of love? I’m not sure or why as some see
The hawk; they squawk, scatter and swing
To hide deep in any fortress in any tree?
Or is love a class thing – sparrow for sparrow
And dove for dove for the hawk would swallow
Who dares cross the line? Therefore some wallow
In a different emotion – what’s its name we’d know.
But I’m only keen to seek out why cock,
Though he’d trip and fall, would crow round the clock,
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