Since it was a bit difficult giving this poem that has refused to let me be a title, I chose to go with the Shakespeare style of “What You Will”.
This poem is a child of frustration. I kept throwing it away, but kept coming back. Now, like the woman for which the speaker in the poem is obsessed with, there is a certain obsession I now have for this poem! Call it what you will!
MY OBSESSION OR WHAT YOU WILL
why do you stare at me
waiting for the muse in me
to render a poem to you
when you are the muse making music inside me
and I a worshipper waiting at the bank of this river of love?
Let me walk towards your perfection
just to kneel before your beauty, before your magic,
because the lines of a poem to you my love from a mortal mind like mine,
would be like rendering incantations to a lifeless idol,
a god made of wood, not woman made of flesh
for the body throbing before your presence is not wood for fire, but food for nightly infernos
From my knees,
I cannot dare to meander my hands through the curves of your paths,
the twin-hills on your chest, and rabbit hole in the middle between these trees growing skywards
towards your facial horizon only left to be imagined.
These places are too high for me,
like climbing hills of Erin-Ijesha upon a picnic.
Let me stare with awe from the stems of your trees
Like a worshipper waiting for the wonders of your magic wand in the wind,
Waiting for your endowed height to fall upon me
like the seven waterfalls of Erin-Ijesha,
bathing me with your love so immortal,
washing me fresh from the mess of heartbreakers
too mortal to live beyond the lives of their flesh
Senator Ihenyen (c)2012