When
my pen gathered dust
And
blank pages mocked my desk-
You
sang a song that pleased my muse.
Louisa-Louisa
Bring
with you your guitar and poems
Here
sits a bard with tender emotions
Turning
pages of torn memories
That
made his muse a god on exile.
Your
song is medicine for the gods.
Louisa-Louisa
Carry
with you that portrait of forests
Where
quotes are written on leaves and shrubs
Pointing
in the direction of lone pathways
Where
lights are hung on the pathway towers.
Your
painting is the road to bliss.
Louisa-Louisa
Bring
with you the book of stories
Where
dead folks speak of signs and sufferings
That
blinds the eyes of visionary men
Who
lose their wit to magicians’ charms.
Your
stories are conquered crusades.
Louisa-Louisa
Tap
those rhythms that make you dance
And
bring with you your dancing shoes
There’s
one more dance left in my room
Where
rhythms are hidden in my drums’ skin.
Your
steps are made in Panama.
Louisa-Louisa
Is
there a new art hiding on your hairs?
Take
my quests with you, O Louisa.
©
Echezonachukwu Nduka 2014
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