She will never be happy

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The season before the harvest
When your barns knew only rusty yams
You frequent my door
With smiles hanging on your hungry lips

Over the calabash of fresh wine
We recount the tales of our hunting fathers
We shared the same mat at night
Covered in cold blanket of our dreams
When our children shall knot the nuptial string

The moon has broken its shells in ripeness
The tingles of our love wears off
We are no more brothers
We have never been
We shall never be

After that secret meeting
Behind the walls of royal chambers
You came out hands burdened with sacks of cowries
I suspected in silence

Now I stand with others before the palace
The dancers raising rude dust
A mockery of our friendship
The king marries Aweke!

Aweke your daughter
She should be my daughter too
Can't you see her heart is broken
By your boarderless greed!
She loves my son
And we both know
She will never be happy
And we both know

© Olatuja Oloyede