In my usual rounds to the sanctuary
I saw her seated behind the scholarly table,
In front of her; books that apologize not to ignorance,
She must be a colporteur I concluded.
Her silence eloquently attracted me to her-wards,
I confidently and correctly used my experience in lower grade English class,
I introduced myself, thus earning the right to know her,
That is if she had gone through the same system as I,
She did exactly the right thing and so I could refer to her by name, lest I delete it from my memory and be a victim of past predicament.
I’m yet to know if ‘Twas her books or herself that attracted me,
But I agreed to buy one of them on a later date,
I, therefore, qualified for another thing–her cellphone number,
I had to hurriedly get out of the scene,
Other duties demanded my presence and diligence literally pushed me to respond.
The days passed by,
We met yet again and I took my book
I dug deep into my pockets and offered a reverse after-sale service.
Hitherto, my heart respectfully kept the faith,
‘Twas not the time for coquetry and love,
I had myself fettered in the chains of responsibility.
Before you get to follow the chronology of events you must know a few things about me,
I’m a man, an African man,
In matters of love we have been trained by our forefathers to take the model laid by the imperialists;
We are supposed to identify a damsel, declare a sphere of influence and finally establish an effective occupation.
The more a lady can do is to say she loves you without saying it.
Let her show that she feels called to be in love with you and that’s enough,
This is what Africa has taught me and I’m not in the moods of being traitorous,
In Africa, no woman has been given powers to initiate a seduction.
The next time I had a chat with her it was all set,
The damsel was using words which could be better for a couple in their honeymoon somewhere in Coast of Muhuru Bay,
Now such words from a young beautiful chocolate lady tame any man,
I was falling for her faster than I thought.
Now, I must remind you something about me,
Actually, I guess other normal and serious men practice it too. When you are in love with a lady, her name “becomes obsolete”
You have to get some title of endearment to your graceful doe, or your dove.
I was simply being myself and so I was in the process of doing that.
Being diurnal oriented,
I took her for a jaunt in the woods,
Her vibe was free and galloping,
I was reserved in ideas and attitudes,
Will you call this being “narrow-minded?”
Well, that’s up to you, you’re old enough to hold your own opinion.
Clinging closer than a leech is one thing we used to enjoy,
But we were conscientious, never to start a game whose switch off button We couldn’t locate.
I had to slowly continue my program of knowing her better.
Before long She became indifferent.
She hated terms of endearment
She was just openly disrespectful
The only time she could talk comfortably was on issues I would blush telling you.
I had to quit and remain myself rather than live the opposite of what I delivered on the sacred desk.
Was she beautiful? Yes
Was she respectful? No
Could I pretend to be in love anymore?
Therefore what remains?
A step back into the league of singles
Better to wait longer than marry wrong