Poetry: We don’t always marry the ones we love


Marry you?
That would be a spoiler!
Don’t get me wrong,
I want with you, a forever
You leave me sprung,
After a thought and a shudder
But, marry you?
That would be a spoiler!
See, you are beautiful,
Beyond oaths and promises
Marriage is dutiful,
Duty exists not in our premises
All these hearts feel,
Nothing but a you and a me
Bound only by synchrony
So, marry you?
That would be a spoiler!
That would be another set rules;
Rules are meant to be broken
Laws that may be of no use
But to leave us open
Open to disaster, resistance
A struggle through societal distance
Cuffs we were made without;
A numbing difference
Babe, marry you?
That would be a spoiler!
Should we ever marry who we love?
Partner with the one that’s true to us,
Keep the ones we think deeply of?
We don’t always love who we marry
Marrying you would be a spoiler!

Water, a glass and a good reason
A library of words and me
Love and the hand of a good season
My woman, my love is the sea.

Love has grown measles
No lotion to cure mistakes
The calamine is just a pistol
Moving after the muzzle breaks.

This poem is for the sake of love
For the woman who wants to marry
My skin confuses the touch of love
So for love, i refuse to marry.

This is what love made me do –
To love or to be in prison free
I married for love, i waited for you
My love, my woman is the sea.

We don’t always marry the ones we love
When love isn’t going to the market
When love might turn ambitions to a mirage
When love sinks hope deep in sacrifices
We don’t always marry the ones we love…

Omolola J.
Love had me by the neck
And choked me till I gagged.
I imagined my kids with his face
His skin tone and dented chin.
His promises was my solemn oath,
Forever was to be our fate.

The river of our love now flows both ways,
Forever doesn’t come all ways.
My heart’s template is flooded
With present past and future thoughts.
You belong to someone now,
I know we can never be.

Why can’t I marry the one I loved?
Who plotted this irony and sneaked in a twist?
I pray to love the one I marry
More times as much.

Hold me darling
Let our tongues intertwine
May fine linen have nothing on us;
But beauty
We are beautiful together
I forgot you are already married to the idea
that me and you will never last

I wonder who gave you that idea
Then I remembered wonder woman had it in her
So if you believe your home will nest better with someone
Crow as I may
This rooster may not bring dawn
But that is yet to be the biggest calabash breaker

You see in the town where I come from
A calabash is taken to pluck a rose
So she can be led home
Safe from scorch
But it would not be so with you
You are one with the wild
You belong to the field
You consider me too delicate for your love
Even after I scaled the fence to gaze upon you
And drank the rain so I’ll take root in you
You still prefer to sculpt your calabash on paper
Than let my heart beat with your love
Our love

Oh well, love chooses its own shelter
And it isn’t always home with cushions
Sometimes it’s in nerves and valves
That may not always lead home
I wonder though
Why we don’t always marry whom our heart loves

Jennifer Dafwat

In messy hair and old tears.
My stomach burnt to my heart.
Merging old feelings and new memories.
These days are cold, so is your once warm heart.
A bruised portion of old feelings.
A happy piece of sad thoughts.
Buried in yours and you in mine
Steadfast, holding still but even the third eye can’t see past the blurry lines.
Hard shelled emotions betrayed by soft spoken lips.
To you the one.
My should-have-been day after forever.
Whilst our hearts wandered in far away galaxies,
Fate was hanged on like the forbidden fruit we had to bite from.
Glass shattered, our love was bruised.
Nothing mattered, faded long and misused.
Little stones built up walls in our heart and at this point,
Happy endings are just sad beginnings.


⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠’I do’ is for show
This you must know
Mothers dream of it
Yeah, they get into a fit
When daughters get laid before the gown is knit

‘I do’ is for show
The whole town knows
Is he rich?
Is she pretty?
How many cocks laid down their pride?
How many hens won’t cuckoo no more?

So much singing
Way too much dancing
Drinking, backslaps,wooing, envy and …
I don’t know

Yeah, nobody knows what happened
Betsy came back home
Walking on the street, on her own
She had a black eye,
She had anger, regret and confusion choking her voice

Well, the town’s gossip
For a little sip
Of fine good old rum
Will give you the gist
And a little extra advice

Marry the one you love, or not at all!


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