Love Poem by segun Johnson Ozique

What is like to love?
Beyond the dialectic dauby of the eyes?
Beyond the swells, the appetitive lure to drool
Her heel, her helm, her wig; her phenomena attires
Beyond his sunny groom, the good sense of outfits; naturedly
Sweet, single, smart and solvent; the spark of salivating fantasies


Is it to loose yourself, unbridled?
To dwindle and waddle in daydreams
In recollection of what was
Or the wish of an hopeful prospects to dot on

Is it to forego your health and wreath?
Devoting your being to love solely?

Is it to feel being disconnected, lost?
Not just in reverie but capabilities

Is it to feel in needs
To grow ravenous every time you are not with love,
Resolution not to grow weak clobbered


Is it not, not to see the true world, only your way
As from a height, with rapt prophetic eyes,
And though loving, selfishly stirred; then when love pales
gnashing and grieving for the squandering past,
The years that can no more be regained?

Is it to spend long days
And not once feel that the time is wasted?

Is it not, not to be immured
In the prison of the present worship, keep it going for months
Next and next to the next with knavery promises?

Is it to suffer, if need be
And feel half, and feebly, loved:
But deep in our hidden heart
Festers the dull optimism of a change someday?

Is it more, less or none of these?
It is, I think I know, - all of them: when we
Selflessly love; no gain, some pains, a million sparkles
The willing sacrifice of our old self
To see the world in colours of mortal, foible
And live ever to praise, never to blame