Passion

Fief

~ Iyan Igma

‘She’s such a lovely pretty girl,’
Longingly thought the lonely earl,
And in a conscious state that was alternate
Lived in a dream he could not forget.

Waltzing in mist under moonlight,
She made for a delectable sight.
She hastily turned and laughed, as if whisked away,
And twirled and dipped, as if on her knees to pray.

She forgave him of his splendour and conceit,
Called him the most common man she did ever meet,
And, as she majestically twirled around,
He forgot about her queen’s crown.

Then, they ran off to simply live and elope
Beyond the range of the king’s power’s scope.
He’d given up his title and feudal vow,
The king might surely be angry now.

My White Love

~ Iyan Igma

My white love went riding
On a horse that bore her away,
But I still remember her parting words,
“I’ll be back for you someday.”

And in my dreams I wonder
Whither she might be?
I picture her gliding by,
Hair waving windily.

Upon streets of turquoise,
The clip-clop hooves have tread,
Pausing only once here and there
For migrating soda bread.

Behind her a glimmering moon
Spews butterflies into the air,
And all of them weep to praise
My mistress that graced them there.

And in my dreams I know
She loves me with all her mind,
For when she but utters my name
A smile’s all my mind’s eye can find.

Across the sparkling waves she flies
To drink at rowdy sand bars;
And when she inebriatedly brawls, she
Proves to my leaping heart women are from Mars.

Amid the clouds of snow banks
She dusts off her reining hands.
She’s coming back to me
From beyond those dull foreign strands.

And from my dreams I wake up
To a bitter reality;
I like my dreams much better,
For there she returned and kissed me.

Sri Lanka

~ Iyan Igma

And the nebula of colours twisted
Spake to the star whom for her love listed,
And with logic sensibly insisted
That the pow’r of our love they could ne’er match.
It’d be impossible as to catch
A shooting star as love as we two do;
Theirs would die when existence desisted.
The red giant took this not as offense,
For love’s been reputed to make all dense,
And there are some it’s e’en made go insane.
She laughed as a child and questioned again,
For one should e’er question the depths of love,
Even should one live in the stars above.
Such coquettish makes it a pleasant brew.

Pebbles

~ Iyan Igma

Said a hot collection of vibrant gas
Loosely collected, a nebulant lass,
Via the colours of her cloudy eye
The question ‘ternal, “How do you love I?”
To the hot-plasmaed star who would her woo.
“Well beyond the wildest ration and true;
Almost as much as those two humans do,”
Replied he as he pointed with a flare
To the mortals at which the stars do stare
For their radiance of love which e’er grew
And like a supernova lit the sky
In awe. The noble star meant you and I,
But stars are worthless pebbles, like the moon.
I can only value seeing you soon.

Moors

~ Iyan Igma

Utopia’s nowhere was newly found
Where you trod, as it is hallowéd ground.
Yea, there do the lilies and violets spring
Into beauty as a poetic thing!
“My Goddess, ye art perfect!” Angels sing,
Who worship with voice as bird on the wing.
A whole civilization could be built
‘Round the holy waters your eyes have spilt,
Since ’round rivers are low ones constructed.
Gorgeous grace that realm will have seducted.
Rejoicing, they’d worship you as their queen.
You’re grand, they’re base, and there’s naught in between.
The multitudes would give their lives for you;
They’d wish there was something more they could do.

Curiae

~ Iyan Igma

It would take a Supreme Court ruling to
Interpret the odd love I feel for you.
But would I think it just when it is through?
After all, should it have trouble with the
Pursuit of defining obscenity,
Then I must question its authority
To tell I, a lover!, what love is. I
Say love’s more fleeting and grand; should it try
To capture love in mundane words, I’d sigh
To see it with the abstract waste its time
And send the good children to weigh a crime
Or some such small thing and love in my prime.
What wisdom’s made me expert in love’s might?
Only the first and all subsequent sights.

Demanotation

~ Iyan Igma

But what in love’s incapacitation
Know I for madness’s jubilation?
For you I suffer decapitation.
Thus, canst thou hold irrationality
Against me ‘sif ’twere some legality?
You said I’d a weird personality
‘Pon the primary occurrence we met,
As destined by the paths long ago set.
Know I little of propriety, fret
Not, for I intend to worship in mind,
Where all’s as can be wished and e’en you’re kind
And for undue charges I am not fined.
I love ye more’n could e’er be requited.
To love you a crime, I’d be indicted.

Volve

~ Iyan Igma

Change anymore than you’ve already done,
And I’ll know catastrophe has begun.
It would be as if a museum caught fire
Which held Egypt’s artifacts of each sire.
The building and values within gone
Would be trifling, cease you to be your own.
You’ve been perfect since you I have but seen
That first occasion when I truly saw
Your fig’rative innards and not the sheen
Of chilled beauty, which does equally awe.
Change you, how could it be for the better?
You are perfect; water can’t get wetter.
I would have you in a preserved state
With your dark tresses falling from your pate.

Addiction on the Mind

~ Iyan Igma

Oh, I could easily get over you,
I think, if I but ever wanted to.
This differs from, though I would not take bets,
Those addicted to drugs and cigarettes.
But why would I force myself to forsake
Love, when it will be slayne, as if with a stake.
Alack, Time is the great vanquisher. Friends
Oft’ arise matured to find friendship ends
With silent separation and moving
Of houses or desires. It’s behooving
To enjoy Love’s passing transience,
Though this is not realized by the less dense.
My, I’m fond of how your eyes bug with style,
But I’m more addicted to your rare smile.

Entitlements

~ Iyan Igma

As discussed, you’re in no need of a tan,
Albeit you have no fear of burning.
Some might delight in calling you a witch,
But it shows massive flaws in their learning,
Which was probably stopped or ne’er received.
But don’t worry of me, I’m a big fan.
Thus, ergo, I am blind to any glitch
Which you can’t have. Does this make you relieved?
I feel you’re proper, and this I don’t feign:
Perfection like you’s entitled to deign.
Why can’t they look into your eyes unblue
And drown in the cold depths and catch the flu?
What right do they have to feel your equal,
For you are unique and have no sequel?!