I am a poet,

I know what beauty is.

Beauty is the pain that fades

when love invades a darkened space.

Beauty is the horse

in still gallop adjacent

the evening sun.

Beauty is the boy running

to welcome his mother back

from a harsh day’s work.

Beauty is the merriment

that the heart makes

when at the sight of a loved one.

Beauty is the anticipation

Of the rose that comes with love.

Beauty is the lovely flower

that sprouts in defiance to

the dirt of the roadside gutter.

Beauty is the quarrels among siblings

resolved in laughter and gifts.

Beauty is the dawn that awakes

With the rising sun.

Beauty is the laughter  

That pumps the contented heart.

Beauty is the symphony that the soul

sings to the mind’s ears

in late December.

Beauty is the smile

that disarms the man’s mind.

Beauty is the goodbyes

at the airport lounges, the

hugs of lovers, the kisses of friends,

the handshakes of partners, the

sweet tears of the separated and

the bitter laughter of the reunited.

Beauty is the Sunday dress

on the purified body and the stainless

attire on the sanctified soul.

Beauty is the pen

scribbling cryptic love notes

to the one the hand misses.

Beauty is in the moment

when the clock strikes,

‘Time to see my beloved’.

Beauty is the bird that flies low

to mesmerise playing children

in the harmattan season.

Beauty is the ringed hand

that walks down the aisle on

a Saturday afternoon, hoping for

a bright future.

Beauty is the melody

of the breaking waves

playing samba on the sandbar

in Bakassi Peninsula.

Beauty is the healthy black hip

That swings to the Makossa rhythms

in a Yaoundé night club.

Beauty is a merry soul

in a miraculous body.

Beauty is the eye that looks into the heart,

and beauty is what the discerning eyes

see in the kind heart.

Beauty is the pat on the back

by a loving hand.

Beauty is the peace

that permeates the heart of contented souls.

Beauty is the animated lonely road patches

observed on your way to Ibadan.

Beauty is a view of the earth from the sky.

Beauty is seeing those moving faces as the

Madrid train goes by.

Beauty is the stranger’s assuring words

giving you directions in the busy Munich streets

on a rainy summer’s day.   

Beauty is the welcoming lunch with Laura

in an aesthetically pleasing

 Newcastle café.

Beauty is when Mother says,

‘Eyoh is reading. Let him be.’

Beauty is the memory of Father

 Sharing his meals with the children.

Beauty is the students’ rapt attention in class

When epic notes are being dictated.

Beauty is the apple-d hand

 that sits beside a dappled soul

outside a Newcastle University Hall.

Beauty is the greeting;

the hands waving and the voices calling on Campus

When the scholar takes a step of faith.

Beauty is when the passing stranger

 looks exactly like a loved one

who is no more.

Beauty is that lonely space that speaks peace to your soul.

Beauty is the silent days when work is not your craving.

Beauty is when the light in your soul

 keeps shining long after the country’s light had gone off.

Beauty is the childhood songs
that assume fresh meanings in adulthood.

Beauty is when Andreas’ messages

arrive your inbox after

crossing seven oceans and seven seas.

Beauty is your birthday,

With messages and calls that remind you of

 how kind and caring people can be.

Beauty is the gratitude that

comes from the heart.

Hence, thank you so much for those

 heartwarming calls and messages

sent yesterday on my birthday. May God bless you all.

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