Poet: Gîtaû wa Kûng'û ©️2️⃣0️⃣2️⃣3️⃣✍️
A handsome Nyagathanga bird,
Flies all the way from the hilly, green-carpeted land of the largest sycamore,
To linger while Flapping. Singing melodiously while Speaking.
Speaking sonorously while Singing.
On the land named after many little colobuses, atop the beehive holding flattering, fig tree,
Just to filter and drain the pain of caned, Chained up dawns,
With lousing lyrical, quizzical, winter-solstice, arousing sunrises,
Singing sonorous melodies singing,
Love is true. People are not, truly!
Love is life. Life is a master mystery.
Love blooms from and in the springs within.
But they line up in the banks
Waiting to, and Diving into the passing currents that sparkle
So drown chasing seductive phantoms
All the time thinking,
I'm looking for love'
Looking for love?
Looking for love elsewhere,
While what they search,
Sparkles inside them!
Poet, ©️Gîtaû wa Kûng'û ✍🏾 2023
