Love makes me weak.
Love weakens the mind of the strong Adonis,
When Venus turns furious and unserious;
the tantrums, the spasms, the aches, the chaos, the tempests, from
the child crying in the grown lover,
the sheer nonsensicality expressed in the intelligent Beauty,
a B/B that has turned BadAss,
the stress that emanates from the stormy soul of an Ariel mate,
the nagging want that can only come from
the source of chronic thirst, of discontentment and dissatisfaction,
the insolent words that spring from the perspectivality of see finish,
the restlessness of a soon-to-be bride,
the impatience of a gold-digger,
disappointed because she dug where there was no gold.
The disrespect of a disappointed Queen sits kingly on your skin,
sending you, the imagined King, to the dirt of peasantry in the slums of human imagination,
there you rot in indignity, clothed in existential shame and romantic misery,
while she bestrides the universe of stars, your sullied name on her lips,
gaining favours of new lovers by ruining your remaining reputation,
in exchange for survival kits like garri, beans, eba, dodo, ewa, amala, ewedu, afang, indomie and eggs.
Love is a contested and conflicted phenomenon in our days,
Its arena is an eternal wrestle to the dead,
the source of stress and mental illness.
The hero starts out smiling and collected, well suited with a bouquet of flowers,
but ends in tatters; torn, stripped, emptied, beaten, eaten, skeletonised, ripped, punched, dismembered, purloined, pilloried, scammed and, above all, damned.
Thus knocked down in countless romantic encounters,
the unfortunate lover becomes fearful and faithless in the affairs of love,
the trauma sings his life many a sorrowful tunes and time rushes past the patient lover who waits for the Divine’s perfect timing to avoid being yoked to imperfection in a world where no perfect human exists.
Last year, I saw him pass by,
a paragon of irony.
(to be continued).