Awash is my heart
with a huge chunk
of unspent
budgeted love
that won't be retired
to a cold
insatiable treasury
for love's financial year
ends not on the last day
of December
it runs concurrently
with life
and flows like sweet Ojorowo
stream tidied in dry season
Never weary and discouraged
though it has come a long way
beaten blue-black
by inept treasurers
cheated at every stop
by treasure-hunters
who fetch it as though
another seven year famine
where there would be no Joseph
is ever imminent
but forward it keeps moving
like a warrior
trained by many battles
Though its head is bruised
mouth battered
sealed by horror
stonewashed
shell shocked
dazed
a cul-de-sac
But a boulevard
suddenly looms large
as my heart laboriously
retreats
groggy and frail
in tatters and scorn
but hopes to fight
another day
for a master fighter
throws not his all
in a losable battle
of today that he could
win at a different front
the next day
revived and rested.
(C) Chris Jibero.2007.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem