IRETI II

Ireti,

You're a poem written in vernacular,
A song sang in my mother's tongue.
Everything about you is natural,
Like an unleavened bread.

You're the reason a king leaves its throne,
When you dance the jigida dance,
My heart vacates its throne in me,
And seek to merge with your own.

Ireti, can I think on you and not be elated,
Like when current passes through a wire,
My molecules move fast and are heated,
For your thoughts consume like fire.

You're a simile used in heaven,
A metaphor in the tongues of the angels,
Your voice is the onomatopoeia for beauty,
Even the sun smiles like you.

I'll wait at the village square,
That you come and carry me away.
To the lands where beauty is made,
For you're obviously from there.

You're untouched by the yeast of guile,
Something sincere about your smile,
And at the sound of your voice,
My heart starts to rejoice.