Good week everyone! I was going through some of my family pictures the other day and with a wistful smile paused at my late father’s photograph. This particular one he had taken when he had just received his doctorate degree with my four year old self perched on his knee with a quizzed look on my face, probably wondering why I was asked to sit still and look at the mechanical eye staring at me. I remembered the admonition my father used to instruct me with when I’d actively begun appreciating the female form. I was in my last year of secondary school and my ever tidying mother had found some irreverent pictures of women in various forms of undress. My ears, while being too old to be pulled, knew no rest for the best part of a fortnight – a larger percentage of the assault being from my mother. My father in very few words, at four o’clock in the morning, that time most old school parents feel their words sink into their children’s obstinate heads the most, instructed me on the evils of chasing after vagrant women (as he called it) because they were the downfall of would be great men.- a heavy robe he had hung on my broad shoulders from childhood, one I have come to appreciate.
I, as all teenagers are born to do, rebelled (passively of course) against my dad’s instructions. I saw it as him being a spoilsport, and my opinion was enhanced by my uncles’ tales of my dad’s escapades with the fairer sex before he got married to my mother. I wrote this poem in university in my third year with a smile of mischief playing on my lips as I put pen to paper. I want to share with you my thoughts then and hope you’ll enjoy it. Have a great week ahead. Cheerio!
Never again a woman will I chase!
For the evils that abide within
Are such that have no depths.
Eve to Adam
And the fall of Mankind!
What bliss lies therein the secrets of woman?
So sweet, so intoxicating, so comforta-
I shall be wise!
I refuse to be beguiled!
Sweet is the fall caused by women
For bloodless is the fall.
Like opiated sleep it is.
Retrospect shall now I
On the moonlit blanket beneath which we lay,
Freda and I,
As we writhed and…
Truly, sweet and sour
Is the weapon of a woman.
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