A WANDERER OF LOVE

Aisha Abdussalam 

A Wanderer of Love

A day now into days,

Weeks from many days,

Months from more weeks—

The months are now years,

And yet my love is not here.

I await that love

That poets say is as pure as a dove.

I await that feeling

That lovers glow in.

I await that gust of emotions

That defers all sense of notion.

I await that pain from a lover

That may knock my heart over—

A shot of Cupid's arrow, my sweetheart,

So our hearts may never be apart.

Yes, I await that silly smile

From tiny teases that has me beguiled.

I await that warm touch,

Nothing much but a gentle clutch.

I await that affection

That welcomes no rejection—

A dream-like projection,

Could it only be but a fiction?

That pure yearning of need,

Waiting for a heart to intercede.

An array of decent obscenity,

That canvas inked with a beauty—

A beauty called love,

An essence from heaven above.

Colored by beautiful moments,

Etched in hearts of men like a monument,

Unshaken by the sands of time,

A tale of an old art to mime.

"Could it all be nothing but a tale?"

A question from a search to no avail.

Or could it indeed be true?

Until then I say...Adieu!