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The Wait

Writer's picture: Oarabile MamashelaOarabile Mamashela

He had never really known love before

Never known the taste of it

Never quite sniffed a wiff of it

Had never sang its song

Or knew what it was to feel its soft embrace


He'd never truly met love,

had only seen it a distance in an elderly couple or starstruck teenagers

He'd only ever seen it on a screen,

or read it on a page

And yet, yet he had never had love visit him


It wasn't for a lack of wanting to love,

He was eager for it, green at the eyes for want of love

He reached for it in the women that came and went,

He reached for it in the whispered greeting of a stranger in a street

Wished for it in the mellowed rainfall on a rainy evening

Wished for it still, in the cold arms of a passing fling.


He had never known love

And it was a cruel thing too,

For he knew many whose hearts have loved and been loved

Many who love had visited aplenty

Many less deserving than he

And yet, he had never once met love


Mayhaps one day it would find him,

Seated in the quiet corner of a local Cafe

Or walking along the greens of a boisterous garden,

Until then,

He would have to wait, in baited breath-

for the day love would visit


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