(Letter to my sister)
Oyinlola,
Money can never worth the sweetness of honey
Neither can volume of sweat determine income.
Honey, indeed is honour, in truth, dignity;
Its sweetness subjects tongues to temporal lust,
Its scarcity pockets minds with intense desires:
Guard yours jealously, you won’t regret you do.
Oyinlola,
Time comes when tongues will throng to taste
Your cherished food, admiring and lionizing you;
Tall, short, dark, fair, males of diverse tales,
‘As anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?’
‘Yes, my Bible does daily’, you should reply;
Address all with respect, but disallow unworthiness.
Oyinlola,
Beauty is temporary. Time is constant and unfair:
It sucks beauty out of young women of virtues
And strength out of young men of colours.
When time does justice to your good look,
Your inner beauty will manifest its shame or glory,
Depending on the adornments you give your inner man.
Oyinlola,
This tablet of truth I prescribe may be bitter,
But must be swallowed if you won’t wallow in bitterness;
It will deliver you when you’re alone in thought,
Quicken you to awake to reality from illusions.
His lies woven with desires may be true, but must be denied.
Oyinlola, love is only a gift, trust is a reward for him that deserve it.
© Elemide Benjamin
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