Akuba

Conceptualising Love 2

The concept of love is not one
That I find easy to grasp.
A feeling so intense,
It makes little sense
When in spite of all the promises,
It often fails to last.

At first you may both be overwhelmed
By an unquenchable passion
That will consume your every thought,
Whether a gradual process or love at first sight,
Your insight dictates
That this loves is so right.

The concept of love
Is a hard one to grasp.
You may feel it fiery, furious and fast.
But what of those promises and pledges encountered,
That honeymoon period,
Keeping you profoundly enchanted?

At first the language of love may speak sex,
And if you succumb it just may shift the text
Of expectations and hopes of what is permissible.
If fear steps in then you are heading for trouble.
And what of the baggage that fails to lie low?
The load is too weighty, the luggage explodes!

The concept of love
Is a tough one to grasp,
Once firmly in the present, now relegated to the past
Yesterday it seemed right but today it is wrong,
You have at last seen the light, what took you so long?
The only way forward is to deny all that was good
Your differences now explain why you were ‘misunderstood’
A sigh of relief as that love comes to end.

Dismiss and disown it, for s/he can’t be your friend.
The concept of love
Is quite baffling to me
Yet it has its very own sensibility.
Love deep and fear not if you fall,
For it is better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

Akuba © August 2006

Chester, That Black Ghetto Cat.

Returning home one day
After a wild shopping spree
I became aware that a creature
Had marked out its territory
Right in front of my door
That led to my home.
It was hungry, cold and
Seemed all alone.

Imagine that! A black feral cat
Sat chilled on my mat!
We named her Chester, you know,
Oh my daze, she’s so ghetto.
At first, she was welcomed
Into my place
And my sitting room window – sill
Became her space behind the curtain
To shield from the rain.

All the same, she preferred to be
Out and about,
Especially at night when the sounds of a fight
Would disrupt our slumber
Chester, just don’t jest with her,
She would bite or scratch
If you tried to stroke her back,
For she runs the show.
That cat, mmphh, so ghetto.

Sadly when little Fifi was born
I was dreadfully torn
When her skin erupted severely
As a result of an allergy
To Chester’s furry coat.
We were dreadfully choked
Because she had to go
Back to the ghetto.

Unsurprisingly do you know
She is still running the show?
Now adopted by several residents,
Chester still stirs my sentiments,
When she scratches up my kitchen door
With her big, black paws,
Usually, for tuna fish
Her favourite dish

It’s nearly three years,
Yet, Chester still appears
From out of the blue
Mostly to demand food,
Sometimes she will leave
An unpleasant trophy
Like a dead mouse on my mat
And even though I intensely dislike that,
You just have to admire Chester, that black ghetto cat.

Akuba © August 2006

Sweet Memories

Sweet memories of you and me.....
When our eyes first met,
We oozed so much admiration and mutual respect
For each other,
Never could either of us
Have imagined that two years down the line
Our bodies would be entwined
In silent communication.

Sharing similar professional visions
Brought us to that point
Of no return,
When our yearning
Would become uncontrollable,
Never could either of us
Have envisaged that after the passage of time
Wisdom would remind
Never to mix business with pleasure,

Sweet memories of you and me,
When our hearts eclipsed
We exuded such love and overwhelming passion
For each other,
That would somehow smother
Our reasoned sanity.
Never could either of us
Have anticipated that several years later
Our treasured bond would be shattered forever,

For such is the nature of Love

Akuba © February 21 2007

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Pineapple and Avocado

Some two years ago or so,
After enjoying a succulent pineapple,
Unable to throw away its stem,
Reminiscent of a priceless gem,
I placed pineapple in a jar of water,
In the hope that she would grow.

And so she did, Pineapple was unstoppable.
While rooting with unrelenting force,
And little remorse, her spiky green leaves,
Seemingly aimed for a tropical sky
That could only be fictionalised
In my humble kitchen.

A few months later,
In the middle of winter,
The time had come to plant Pineapple,
In a pot of soil, which was certainly worth the toil,
For did she thrive and strive to reach new heights,
Whilst seduced by the aromatic smells
Of mainly African cuisine.

Then, as more time progressed,
After having ravished a rich, ripe avocado,
My eldest son, partly for fun,
Threw the seed into Pineapple’s hot pot,
Rather than relegate it to the rubbish bin.
Nothing remarkable to report in the beginning
But after some weeks, can you imagine!

Pineapple had somehow managed to gain
A cool-looking leafy friend,
And in no time at all, Avocado,
As he liked to be called,
Became romantically embroiled,
Roots to roots, deep in the soil,
With his delectable companion.

Nearly two years have passed,
And their love affair continues to last,
Pineapple with her spiky pines, spread out fine
And avocado, lean and long, serenading her in song,
Remain forever inseparable.
Thus, it has become impossible to prise them apart
By replanting them in individual pots,
For this would surely break their hearts
And so end the liaison
Of this tropical, topical couple.

Akuba ©

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Sons

Sons, it is not easy being a mother,
But since I am the only parent
You have grown to know,
I will continue to smother you and your brothers
With love and affection,
For you deserve the attention.

Sons, though you have an absent father,
Your mother loves you like no other,
Of this you can be sure.
Until you mature into fine young men,
You have my clear direction
As well as unyielding protection.

Sons, even if you argue as do all brothers
Still, look out for one another,
Life is tough enough,
And fraught with institutional racism
Which, as black, fatherless young men,
Will bring you to this powerful realisation

Sons, the odds may indeed be stacked against you
Nevertheless continue to do your utmost best
In all that you do.
Challenge that negative stereotype,
Take pride and your hold head high,
For your mother’s love will surely see you through.

Akuba ©

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