for the fine girl behind my fence... 1
you pluck fine dews from your mind for decisions, for your forwardness.
you see your future as yours, and you, its sailor.
you wish you spell success well and will get rich when the days are tender. good;
the name of God is born inside a working brain,
& may God bless the days you begin to know
that finding your life is a light for your darkness, not mine.
that when a guy loves you, he won't bequeath you light
for your darkness.
yes, you would yourself
like me, who loves you,
who for the fine comfort behind my fence I loved to gift myself.
gift myself to your winds, to your shadow.
have you ever wondered how his soul melts into water?
when you show? when you show like cool comfort?
I know you watch his man move.
well, remember our society calls boys wood.
they think they must not spill their tears;
but broken boys like us weep like waterfalls
we burst out loud like the loosed sea and
crawl back into ourselves for safety at one corner
because the most fearful tears in life are loving a girl without wooing lips
especially when you know your baby is leaving so soon, when she is leaving so soon,
soon, to find her life.
you even support it, but project how much you'll begin to break like dried
leaves when she goes far, far away.
in the beginning,you loved her woman, but you couldn't speak to a girl.
in the middle, you became her close friend because you loved her safety more,
and respected her thoughts and avoided being a lousy boo.
you pray for light,
you look for light
you search her heart & wonder if your love can work in there,
but your body smells forty fears, you retreat.
so just let us say love is stupid,
or let us say love is hard to prove for boys like me
or should we say past boys spoiled love's name?
to make us afraid to tell our sisi we love them so much.
& for the girl behind my fence, listen,
go find your life between bread and butter,
or between threatening tough nails
& /may your way be rough/
for the only straight way in life is on the couple's bed
that life is hard doesn't means success is costly.
wait. I can't remember when I began to love you
to love everything that happens to be you.
even when on some days you're frailty and naive or flawed, Aunty Maria,
I loved it that way
I pray if you can find someone like me where you go,
who would coin making you smile his business barring from busy-ness,
I know you will never curse the name of love
I know even if I weep when you leave, God is watching
me from the thin space behind the door
there is one "I'll miss you" that is greater than the sentence.
I know even wherever you go, you will like— soft heart, see plain path;
like an angel fly to where harvest is a bag of coins,
or where boodles breed in fresh clothing
the girl behind my fence can be wondering why I became a beast for her,
but is the answer still alive, when the wooing itself is dangling
on the lips, like suicide, preparing to die?
fly. fly away and paste me on many of your memories , or come. come to stay
here, here in my heart.
help the busy boy find love between your heaven, heaven,
say, /I helped unserious boy love me because I'll love him longer/
I hope you sing and dance for me before leaving to search what is yours
I hope I get to tell you one of the biggest unsaid words on my tongue that "I love you" to your face someday.
all that is in my head is your head...
© Olude S. P.
Bio: Olude S. P. is a hyper-realistic pencil artist, writer and poet. He hails from Nigeria. His poems sing out sighing messages and give a cure. His poems and stories have appeared or are forthcoming in Madswirl, African writers, Parousia Christian magazine, Poemify magazine, Caffeinated Journal and elsewhere. In his leisure time he lies in a silent cave permutating Rubik's cube and sketching deep inks of fine chiaroscuros. He keeps writing.