Nomadic Emotions
A poem
My thirst is for a love that runs in cascading streams and a deluge that totally overwhelms my soul. I crave the beauties of the earth and the masterpiece of fine, feminine architecture. Let the sizzle of womanhood speak to me, for now, I listen.
The spaces of my heart are fraught with bankruptcy and my receptacle for emotions is now tarnished with rust. These nostrils are dull to the lavender scent of a woman and I’m aloof to recall that sensuous, elegant gait.
Isolation is a murderous tyrant and loneliness is a vicious, desensitized taskmaster. I’m pummelled within the four walls of my room and my tears drip onto the fondest photographs of my lady sweethearts.
The clouds are a punitive omen, for they predict my apocalyptic doom years ahead. So I’ve put up the stunts of courage and adorned the bravado of a champion, but the forces of fate pride themselves in treating me to a sick, buffeting assault.
I’m everywhere but I’m nowhere. My steps canvass the streets seeking solidarity and the comfort written with a delightful damsel. But I’m ridiculed as a lunatic and I bear the weight and gravity of untold shame.
I remember my spicy, graphic past and the camaraderie I acquired among a throng of gorgeous, voluptuous ladies. My face was pelted with a million rosy kisses and we dined on aromatic clouds suspended in stratospheric heights.
The doors of my emotions were opened so tempestuous floodwaters of affectionate feelings were pleased to inundate, and I was high on the pinnacle of rhapsody — staggering from love’s intense intoxication.
My days wore the pleasantness of purple and the air was stoked with the fragrance of delight. I walked the corridors of prestige amidst an ostentatious array, and the flame kindled by my heart was fervent to captivate feminine clusters and sleek magnificences.
But now I’m tortured in Broken Alley — at the intersection of love-lost roads. I stare at the open skies for a glimmer of hope and the preindication my days of silence and bitter estrangements are over.
My emotions are with probing tentacles and they pry into nooks and crannies to find a woman who shares with me the sweet item of a whirlwind romance. I’m small on the stool of time, but from the gates of my heart are many nomadic emotions.
© Valentine Nnebe 2024
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