Osemen

I have spent a few days like decades without a
sight of you;
slept many impossible nights away from your
warmth.
But my memory of you is still fresh-
as fresh as new early morning palm wine.
That picture of you
in your long flowing Ankara gown
of many colours
still hangs in that old frame in my heart.
I have decided not to change it- that old frame.
Even though anvils battle with me
to have a taste of you inside the glass,
I won't compromise.
Yes, I won't change that frame,
for it reminds me of my forever promise.
Osemen, I'll be back soon,
though I can't say when, for I know not when;
but I know a friend who does- he is my maker
and the owner of my breath.
You can write him a mail with your tears.
Maybe, he'll be pricked to let you know.
But if he fails to reply your mail on time
because of his many-yet-unattended-messages
from his seemingly countless clients,
just wait for me like you would the soon-coming-
king.
Wait for me like a neem tree would the rain
after a long season of drought.
Wait for me like you would our unborn child
still swimming the streams in my scrotal sacs.
And I'll be with you in a twinkle of an eye. Be patient!