By Jomo David
I used to pass by their home each evening
Not a word, sometimes with my face down
Avoiding any eye contact that could probably raise eyebrows about my motives,
But every time I could see her
My body warmed up, as this desire to stand and call on this little flower
Kept rising like smoke in the gas chamber.
I stalked her for close to a month
From that, I didn’t see anyone else trying to outrun my moves
Yeah, I know boys are boys and some could flirt with her on the way
But she easily shoed them away, with a smile on her brown cheeks.
These were the moments I wished to smash anyone who even held my flower’s hand for more than a second.
She was mine, and mine alone.
A day like no other came to pass
I was walking as I used to on the way
Then a figure approached, tightened in a black dress
She was alone strolling like a chameleon
We neared and on impulse, I gave her a hand
She took it and fixed her head down
While the other hand fixed its fingers in her mouth
She was warm and a minute forever, I thought this was not real.
I told her my name, she did the same
I asked her for a day out, but with some giggles like water bubbles
She told me no, it can not happen
Like a defeated soldier, I collected my remaining ego
One leg led the other back home feeling dejected
Anger, disbelief and heavy heart were my suppers that evening
Why, why, why….more whys strayed in my head.
After one week, I saw her walking back home
A small round waist kept shaking
Her hands were dancing aside
Every move she made was lyrical
So I tried my luck again with a sneeze
She looked back and as our eyes met
A big lovely smile spread her cheeks
She walked back to where I stood and shook my hand.
The rest is a history not to mention the day I partitioned all parts of my flower.
Nothing beats the smell of a red rose
When all you got is a string of feelings for her,
To the very many years of creating memories
And designing more romantic waves
I am glad to have some precious time with her, my first love.
©Joweda
The African Son
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