Poetry was birthed through love’s embrace
The fire in our hearts warmed our bodies
But the love was quickly tainted
Turning a blue flame yellow
And with it, joy became sorrow
The yellow flame produced a dark smoke
One that clouded all reason
Making it impossible to think through
Now I’m here cleaning the soot from my eyes
Unable to recognise the man in the mirror
Poetry died through lust’s satisfaction
Our hearts turned cold
Sending chills down our spine
With only two choices in every conversation – fight or flight
We were battle ready
Only war quenched our thirst
Oh, that love may find a home here again
Oh, that a smile can lift our faces again
Oh, that poetry may be born again
And alas, here’s a poem.
– Osasu Oviawe