A STORY LIKE A POEM

I met my first love at the age of eighteen

She was as fresh as a blooming flower

She exuded the scent of womanhood

And her charm, like a magnetic wave, threw me close

But she had few words for me

“I don’t roll with babies, begone!”

 

I cried and cried 

Time cleansed this heart, held my hands

And stood me still

 

I met my second at the cold store

She was like the shinning star, too bright, over-shining the afternoon

Her smile was an inquisitive glue which caught everything it saw in its web

I was caught but she had some cold words for me

“I wear Gucci, Michibelino and Diamond couture

Can you afford even one of these? Begone you thingy, and give me some breathing space” 

 

I sobbed and sobbed 

Time cleansed the gluey wounds, held my hands

And stood me still

 

I met my third as refreshing as the morning dew in a fresh morning,

Her piercing eyes scanned my heart and saw it all

Before I could say jack,

Her hands were raised in disapproval.

I wish there were words. Her hands did the talking and said begone!

Before I knew it, air from cruel hand’s speech sent me sprawling in a desert of pain

 

I wept and wept 

Time cleansed this thorn pierced soul, held my hands

And stood me still

 

I met my fourth at the public toilet

Sorry to say this but what needed to be eased vanished into thin stomach

She was the polished diamond in the dirty gravels

The filthy scent of the environment sent me sniffing for redemption in her beautiful bosom

Before I knew what was happening, huge men lifted and threw me into a gutter of human excreta

All she had to say was “this one is weird”

 

I cried tears of blood  

Time cleansed the foul odour, held my hands

And stood me still

 

Now I see you

And I know not what to do

Do I come close or move backwards?

Do I smile back with opened arms or take to my heels?

I need no harsh words nor rejection

Neither can I take a beating or an embarrassment

 

Let the sun on your face spell it out

This time around, no need to shoot laser storms

To finish this weakened heart that time has suffered to heal.

   Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014