The Face of a Poet

As I walk my feet to work
In the cool sunny morning
With cozy kisses
Pouring from the skies

Sitting comfortably
In the bus
Heading towards Magodo
Meditating on how
The day is going to run

As the bus
Speed on in the bush
A figure stared at me
In the mirror
With a warm, old
and a heavy mustache

Tried to dodge my eyes
As the continuous look
Spring towards
The snooker board

As I stopped to
The heavy speed of the bus
The hand gripped me
Before I could take any step
As I looked back to see
Who it was
A thick voice met
My face with a smile

You must be a poet
He said
And immediately
He disappeared away
With the speed of the night
Carrying the wings of the morning

As I head towards my office
Thoughts ramble deep within

What kind of face does a poet has
Is this the future me in the bus
Is there a mark inscribed on our skin
Is there a chip on our skull
Scribbled on by the divine

This my thoughts wander on

And I ask

How does a poet look like???

(Magodo is a place in Lagos, Nigeria where people live and work)

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About Michael Ogundele

A writer, ardent reader and lover of nature. fell in love with writing five years back and I've been engraved in her arms ever since. I share my little way of writing poetry and reflections based on Catholic faith and Spirituality on this space. I hope you enjoy reading as we ride the same chariot to the leafy greens. Do follow me and together, let us jump into the ocean of my ink.
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