You Did Not Come Poem by Agboyi Felix

It came to pass, this twilight,
that I waited at where we
usually met, under the pomegranate;
where I was stabbed and killed
a thousand times by the lonesome
incense offered by the infant night,
besides-you did not come.

I held back and craved,
yet in no choosy course;
it was only ridiculous that
I waited, and waited, and
waited-it was the wind's
patience that taught me to abide.

I am sory to say sorry to myself:
I am wordless, I'm the same
old-mute-chap of the years before
we met; tonight, I sleep on my own,
with doldrums, fantasies, and
broken contracts-far from you,
the normal reality whom I love.

If you can make it up, but cannot,
in due of the rain, to meet
at the terrace, may be behind
your window-I am that lad
in the blue coat with the white umbrella.