In a small and beautiful city of Carl-isle
Today, Ive walked her down the aisle.
So beautiful she looked, she made me smile;
And it seemed a special moment for a while;
Then I remembered my love for her is fragile.
For my heart truly belongs to my one and only Estoile.
This annoying vicar without further ado;
Is already rushing us to the ‘I dos'.
But I'm not ready to do what I wont be able to undo.
'Do i take her to be my lawfully wedded wife'? I do
'Do I promise to love and to behold her'? I do
'And not to look at any one else but her' I do
Oh no, I don't. My neighbour knows too, Mr Naidoo.
But just get on with it Mr Vicar, everything I will do
Even giving her monthly, a new hair-do.
In the corner of my eye I've seen her seated somewhere, Estoile
It is to her that I truly belong by a mile
If it wasn't too expensive to divorce I would straight away file.
She looks better, dresses better, she has got style
If the congregation sees whats in my head now they would be hostile.
Let me just endure, in the end it may be worth the while.
Do I really love my wife? I look at her and I say I don't know.
I feel hurt as I see her smile on her most important day, ohh no!
But all I want is her body and nothing much more.
To plunge into the dark world of the unknown, whoa.
An orgy of revulsion, desperation, attraction,
An argon of apprehension, exhilaration, seduction and wonder
This night, making my way into places beyond the reach of hope.
Where is the happiness that Im supposed to feel on my day as the groom?
Is it a ritual myth whose essence is restored only in the bedroom?
I cant share in her happiness, their happiness, without some booze.
What is the meaning of marriage if Estoile still largely looms.
All these presents they are giving seem like a bribe that spells doom.
For years to come she will say this was her happiest day past her bloom
But I will look back realising that there is no feeling any man can exhume.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem