I will marry tomorrow

The lure of untainted flower,

Its sweet perfume encased in a whorl.

Alas! That which I await is scarce.
This memory will be banished tomorrow.

Tomorrow ,

I must satisfy her.
My labour waits for her belly:
The weary days
The sun

The rains of my struggles
Bear fruit tomorrow.


She said, “I will come tomorrow”
Her many delays must end tomorrow
‘cos her quest for vanities are fully spent.
Our wedding shall be tomorrow.


Her lust shall be feted
Her feathers of courtship plucked!
The downs, I know, shall be not be rubied
But tomorrow we shall deceitfully walk to the altar.

I bid you, wait till tomorrow.
She goes home now to break her bond
With him that was in her dreams only yesterday.

I, shall wait till tomorrow

To make her drink from her fountain of lust.
Her secret desire of a ride to a far country
On her lover’s back, a wish not penny can grant.

I must nurture the wounds and scars of another
And regret I never made the first cut.
Yet, she must do it again as before.
But we shall start tomorrow.

She shall dance like a maiden untouched;
All her lovers in the pew,
Mocking my folly with unspoken memories of their voyages
And I, a victim of blemished womanhood,
Ready to fool the world in “unholy matrimony.”

When she parades foolishness for fashion

Then, call her not my wife.
When she fights on the street in rage and fury
Oh, call her not my wife.
When she slips into darkness to drink from the cup of a rival
Please, call her not my wife.
When the stench of her reputation chokes the neighbourhood
Then, remember her not as my wife.
When she regales her mates with tall tales to my hurt
Please, call her not my wife,
When she wraps herself in fineries yet uglier than a mummy
Please, call her not my wife,
When godliness is exited and the fear of God abolished
Please, call her not my wife
Think no shame on me
Then, when she becomes a Matron over innocent children.

I must marry


Be it for a day before I die.

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