ME OR THE POET

How can I differentiate between me and the poet 
Yet she claims to love the poet but not me 
She aknowledges, she would love to make a home with words 
Words that the creator would learn to produce 
For whenever the poet writes, she falls deeper in love 
But she dosen’t love me; the normal me 

What is the tragedy of life, when love refuses to be normal 
What is the need of pretending that I love to scribble 
when all I can do is make her love the poet and not me 
What type of withces poison were poets blessed with 
That the normal guy like me find it so hard to decipher 
Why do I only gain compliments for my words as a poet 

I questioned her on the delicate issue 
What is the difference between me and the poet 
Yet I claim to be a poet but you refuse to love me 

She thought for awhile, then answered 

“A poet has the ability to communicate and express in such a profound way that touches the soul, sending it to many desires to marry the poet. A poet designs how great the love he would want to feel and share. A poet generally recreates the love of old that made Solomon sing for his beauty. A poet’s love is from the architecture of love (God). He enthroned poets with a certain degree of perfection” 

I became deeply shocked by this revelation 
But my upbringing wouldn’t let me go down without a fight 

I discoursed – 

“How about a love thats pure yet fulfilling. How about the reality of this world, that poets tend to circle in damasks of words claiming they have dealt with any issue at hand. Isn’t reality better than dreams? The reality of a love that tends to struggle in light of troubles and survives. Isn’t love a growing revelation as two hearts learn to be one. Tell me why words refuse to be better than actions. Why my dear isnt a poet known to have the most satisfying of life and love” 

She became deeply engrossed in her thoughts for awhile 
Maybe to savour with ancient poets on the case of love 
But as she turned to me, she was ready to unleash 

She further engaged me 

“Poets have been known to help reality survive by encouraging us to dream and see life and indeed love in a million ways/different colours. What has been supreme though is the fact that poetic words resemble the catalyst thar firms up the love being preached in Churches and streets. How do they do that, you might ask. Poets are non-adherents to a perfect life inasmuch as their works may seem perfect, in that, they respond and give the mind and soul food for thought and comprehension to either gratify or relieve and comfort” 

I interject 

“The one major wrong that poets do is create a gerund practically from everything. Take love for instance, they create loving, feeling and living and thats where they’re wrong. They refuse to accept the origins and fabric of the aforementioned points. Why? Poets tend to degenerate to lying claiming they are ‘loving, feeling and living’ when they do not know the meaning of love, heart and life. Dreaming and imagination convicts them to a ‘life’ of subtle fulfilment interms of love and life. Because they try as much to escape from reality. When me, a normal person after so much trouble and a sense of rejection confesses my love to you. Yet in some way you play by their rules of ‘imagination is better than reality’. Does it serve you not to notice my trying?” 

She continues her discourse 

“Who told you that poets arent active people, who told you that poets refuse to accept reality at their doorstep? You are wrong my friend. Poets are human prone to mistakes. I further do not understand why you are criticising poets yet you are a poet. What is the need of yapping, when my heart refuses to love you but loves the poet. I love you when you are poetic. When poetic, you have a sound mind, being able to reach out to me and hold me. I love the way you kiss and caress me with your words. I love the feeling your gift creates in me. I’ll do anything, I’ll marry you if you’re a poet and not you. I learnt that imagination is eternal akin to dreams, it can be refuelled to inspire and indeed cultivate in us a strength to tackle and live in reality” 

“I grasp the argument you’re proposing 
I detest the notion of words capturing your heart 
Its all titled in gerunds, everything poetic us ‘ing’ 
But if I say I’m a king, would that be poetic? 
I refuse to marry and love because I perceive myself to be great 
When me is down to earth, trying to love and live my life as well as I can yet my poetic gift harasses me and I conjure to digress to a reality that this world needs real people much more than it needs poets” 

She continues 

“You are loosing the argument, I thought you were trying to confer as to why I love the poet in you but not the person-you. Well, poets are great and reliable. Poets are unselfish and they understand companionship. Forget the foolishness of gerunds. Poets aren’t so much concerned with vocabularies rather the atmosphere they create” 

“I grudgingly give you this win to rest this case 
However, someday you’ll realize, it was better you’d lov’d and marri’d me rather than the poet in me. Me loves you unlike the poet who cheats you” 

So still pose the question 
Is it me or the poet? 

She exits my presence: cursing and mumbling inaudible words 

Eddy Ongili 
PenAftermath©

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