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.