This is hard to believe
Better believe it because it is the truth of life
That water has no hands
But drag sands with arms of energy
And ripples created far away on the airwaves
Became the love doctor
That fall in love with the heart of man.
I am handsome, craving
But cannot stitch woo on a lady’s ears
Those who I desire are short-sighted
They called me a penniless boy
Forgotten that I am a classical poet
That writes with the fingers of immortality
When Gods of Wole Soyinka popularise my works
Curtsy of Shakespeare will become my ovation.
If you call me a broken-hearted man
I will say sorry, no! but a duke of love
Arrow of Valentino lies in my eyes
To capture whoever I desire at any time.
I am not like a Rhythm FM or Cool FM
That sings nude and sexy-ism songs all the time
For the young ones to display their flirt on the radio
But a poet, a classical poet who gives lyrics
To the Rhythm and romance to the impotent.
When I say stop! stop!! stop!!!
I have food to pick in the market
And my wife wouldn’t accept corn for rice
She wouldn’t stop inveigling me with R&B
She will lock me down like when a woman’s samba
Is luring his lover to stay more on the bed.
This she continues doing every day
Until the market door is tagged “Closed”
And a lady doctor is in the bedchamber
Tickling the arteries and capillaries
Of a broken-hearted man together.
