By Jomo David
Dreams faded somewhere in the pillow,
Like thousands of fantasies that never shows up,
Leaving emptiness to surface down below,
With the theme of you sitting right on my lap,
Animated with your simple smiles to show,
The best way of we sipping juice in the same blue cup,
It’s not just a mere talk in a noisy town,
It’s your sweet memories that cool me down.
Flicks of your images still presses mine in the mind,
You’re adoring eyes with smooth brown skin,
Black flowing hair that never will bind,
A set of charming dimples that meant to be keen,
With a wide warm heart hidden in your cheerful sound,
The one you used to call me your king,
Not just a yap to kill time with,
It’s your sweet memories I’m pouring as temple’s tithe.
I can’t confess it to your working charms,
For moments of laughter never missed a beat,
Walking out holding each other’s arms,
Blew away chills that’ll hinder our conjugal heat,
I still kiss your lips I see daily in my dreams,
They were sandwiched honey not just a piece of meat,
Don’t gossip when you find me smiling at the ceiling board,
For its your sweet memories I embrace without being bored.
©Joweda.
The African son
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