I Know What Women Think

One night, in the square of my room, where I lay on my bed like a lamb relaxing after taking in dysocia; I lay down in a slanty position at the coner of my bed like the movement of a bishop on a chess board.

I was hope for sleep to put me on becasuse my eyeballs were begining to watch thing around in tiring ways and my two legs were just resting on my Mouka foam with no strenght as if I had been suffering from a long-term dysentery.

I was that way when a poetic inspiration began to descend on me so slowly, maybe from heaven or somewhere which I can’t really tell per say. So I began to pen it down at the expense of my sleep:

When I look
Into any woman’s eye
Be it young
Or aged to fifty nine
I know their mind
I know their tales
I can tell their truth or
Pretence is
All about me;
They loving me

They talk to me for they loving me
They frown at me for they loving me
Or stare at me for they loving me
Or look down on me
As if I’m nothing
But they loving me

They don’t want me to see
That they loving me

The lady I adore is loving me
And won’t stop to be loving me
Which I’m so sure for she brings me
A sweet coleslaw
Every evening

And the one at the store
The grocery store… Is loving me
For she gives me more
More and more of pineapples
And sweet apples for she’s loving me

And my neighbour living here
With her male couple
I always see
Snobbing me for she’s loving me

The prophetess of my sanctuary
I always see
Telling me that God loves me
Is an irony for she’s loving me

And I’m so sure
More than the dawn
Every woman I see
Is loving me
But I act as if
I am not sure
And after all these convincions
A part of me keeps asking me:
“What if you’re not sure?
Because you’re not God.”

Samuel C. Enunwa

“Sometimes or often times, either willingly or not, foolishness is bound to parade the parlor of our brain.”

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