I walked down Orion Avenue

the cobble stone walk way

Were a work of art but none

that my questing heart could exalt

you would think it’s a beauty to behold

what beauty can a street possibly possess

if there are no women walking it…

I strolled into the inner sanctum of his abode

the bedroom is a glassed-in show thing

the atmosphere scented with air imported from the Caribbean

and the bed adorned with sheets hand-woven in Morocco

you might agree it’s a shrine of love but none

you would catch me professing

what beauty good is bed without a woman

to worship on it…

I embraced the cold arms of his garden

were the manure was hurled in from Iraq

and the roses plucked from Swat Valley

you would glory in the truth that’ it’s

throw back to Eden where every story began

but this is a story you won’t hear my tongue wagging

for what beauty is Eden without Eve…

 
                                                 dave chukwuji