The Extreme Of Joy As Something To Be Shared

This is what I see when the sun passes above our House as a kid
Its light pouring through the window mouth
Blossoming the dark corner into a brighter audience

I invited a nostalgia, when a man, with dark hair
Exceptionally white clothes like the cloud
His smiles, shedding happiness around, of rain
His way of connecting words together has a magical touch
He handed over some sparkling notes of money on my hands

I brace up like a Lion who catches its prey
I see a virgin flower opening—
perhaps—this is its kind of way of expressing joy
For joy is a very big gift, maybe that's why a baby couldn't pronounce it, that you only see the magic in their smiles.

I loosed my grief to the cold hands of death / my joy claims a stubborn gene / Every time I breath it tangles around like a perfume
I birth to a dream of joy—and name it a Yoruba name (Ayomide) meaning my joy has come

I have a gift from my mother / I will keep it in this poem / she said I can make a sad person happy / by telling them to live every breath of their life with joy
For joy is a truth / no matter how hidden, it will bloom out / like the underneath of a peacock at the blow of gust of wind