...and on a romantic note. I admire men that can speak about love, write poems on it, write books on it and so on. This is why tonight I am featuring a man who can write and who wrote in honour of his woman!!
Love expressed, is Love life-lent
That is why over all forms, I chose this medium to let you know what you already do.
Or maybe on the contrary, tell the whole world what I feel about you.
New curls, naïve, innocent, young, Quarters, ‘Hello-Hi!’…. I can’t get that picture out of my head no matter how hard I try
Laughter, female hostels, friendship, home videos: ‘Amphi’, catholic concerts and ‘White house’
Commitment, respect, hurdles, tears, meaning, direction, never letting go….
My death bed wherever and whenever it will be; looking back, wishing I could live my life over again with you
Divide my life into seasons as defined above and you’ll realize I have lived more than a third knowing that I found someone who I can give my all to without fear of losing it,
People ask questions like: ‘Why stick to one when you can have them all?’
‘Why put all your eggs in one basket: Isn’t it risky?’
I wish I could answer: I wish they could understand;
but I know they won’t until they do and they can’t if they don’t
Many times I have publicly expressed myself,
to look like a fool later when I turn back on my own words.
What if tomorrow I read this love note and I feel like, ‘What an idiot I was!’
I guess it wont matter: I guess it might;
But I would rather take the risk of looking the fool than not letting the whole world know what a great friend, partner, ‘miss-chief’ you have been to me
Thank you for being my friend
Thank you for sharing my laughter
Thank you for loving my weaknesses
Thank you for being you
for Lahanmi Fakolade
p.s: Some women get all the luck, wish I was the one being addressed like that and for all the world to know!! LOL!
Rejoinder: Love Poetry by Pablo Neruda as contained in his 100 Love Sonnets inspired by his wife, Matilde...
" Before I loved you, love, nothing was my own: I wavered through the streets, among objects: nothing mattered or had a name: the world was made of air, which waited... till your beauty and your poverty filled the autumn plentiful with gifts. "