I Don't Like To Imagine... Poem by Gideon Eze

My days are numbered
The end is come;
And the agents are scattered.

Woe unto me and my sweet face,
for all shall give way to gloom and doom
that'ill sink and kill
my heart and flesh.

My world and words
are dying.
When i think of Black, it's blank;
But when i think back, it's her.
But she's dying
from the wrath of your ignorance.
Everytime I put her in a shade,
you come, dismantle and destroy.
See, I told her,
That her eyes are as dark as the fruit of Jaboticaba,
beautiful as fresh ube;
her sweet lips, sizzling as udala
and her soft voice, titillating as the juice of miracle fruit
and her kinking hair, oh!
flowery as the butterfly tree
and...
And I was telling her this truth
when her shadow shooed her into the garden,
in the burning rays of sun,
into a hot garden,
In search of the fruits of her flesh, her life.
But she found none:
They all cut-down, destroyed.

Now, she's lost in the garden of fruit
And I'm still looking for her
and a standing tree.

I don't like to imagine
not seeing a new fruit 'fore i find her;
I don't like to imagine
not finding a tree, shade
to shield her from naked eyes.

My world and words
are dying,
My Africa is on a bye.