A Portrait of Love
Love is a gift
From the heart
Viewed with beauty
By the eyes that saw
And it beheld it.
Love is a child
Of the mind
Bred by the heart
That cherished it.
Love is seen in the eyes
Of the beloved
Love is a wondrous treasure
Stored and hidden deep
In the hearts of lovers.
ANSAH
OFEI
The Epitaph
The seed. . .
Embedded in a vessel
Contaminated with vice; misdeeds
Fluid more evil
Satan’s deliberations
The pleasure securing itself.
Germinating . . .
Cuddled in a cradle child
Sucking and crawling
An approach,
A spectacular gaze
At the bewildering sea of time;
The invisible realities.
The plant . . .
The fantasy, delusion
Dreams, reverie—play
A beautiful flower
Sparking . . . smiling, laughing
To the sun
Life a fabulous alluring prospect.
Time; moments
Age; days and nights
Facing the realities, the if and nots
The leisure of slothfulness.
Fruits . . .
A gay tantalizing flower
Withered and dispatched
Frowning and sneering
Disgust at the wearing of time
A leaf falls
Finds a place to dwell
A foot treads on it
And it bristles
Somewhere a golden fruit is moulded
Plucked and munched.
The Epitaph
The moments are already gone
... irretrievable.
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