By: Edidiong Ibanga

He peeped within his soul and wondered why those tiny little gigles didn’t last more than a tick of a clock
Then he’s reminded that a lasting joy must start from one then transferred to another
It somewhat flows back and forth to the heart from whence it came
That the heart’s longing for a counterparty was glaring, and the counterparty, a worthy receiver and a liberal giver
Then he knew what do
He didn’t need a trip to the moon; a sight beyond his shadows wasn’t necessary
For he once spotted the brilliance of her faded smile with which she greeted his kind.
And when he muscled the courage to speak, her eyes tried to shut him up but he ignored
He finally spat but his words like the dirtiest saliva stench that took the moment while the queen of mean walked.

Seemed like they were on parallel routes never hoping to cross paths
It bothered him for he was in agony and needed some comforting
Her Royal Majesty seemingly had all magical skills with none, unfortunately, related to comforting
At least not for an unserious looking lad with eyes like the others
That walks and talks like the others
That dresses and flexes like the others
Agenda? Certainly like the others
Mayhaps she treasured her space than she would a Prince. Her space meant the world, was her world
Surrounded by a wall so high and thick no one would successfully climb
Those who attempted lacked the patience to make it to the top

Out of the blue, the giant was reborn and ready to dare, dare to fail
Try, he must, even though bravery at first, rejection at last might be the only silver lining
So he crossed the Rubicon, wouldn’t undo, can’t undo. His mind is made up, the heart can’t turn back.
Her majesty had her terms, unfavorable to the lad
Made him feel less of himself even before himself, so his agony started.
Had a million beautiful words to say but he wouldn’t be listened to.
Beautiful songs to sing but does her majesty appreciate music? Only heavens know! Flowers to give but what about her allergies?
Stories to tell but her preferences are only hers, locked in her privacy, her space.
Every action seems detrimental to the course, every inaction disastrous. Try, he must!

The boy buckled up, wanting to harness all his energies into securing a greater bond
Only that it’s a wrong move. Because she felt bothered, rushed, pushed and so she’s detested
Ready to ignore all signs, rebuff all kind gestures. Damn! She’s good at it.
To him, the world was crumpling already and only he, the victim
The weight is heavier when the destination isn’t certain
His worst fear became his reality. He needed to let go and hope on what lies ahead
Problem is he coudn’t, and none in his shoe would. She’s the last of her kind.
She’s too pretty to not be noticed, too rare to not risk everything for.
A goddess to worship, a pearl to cherish, a river of ever flowing bliss
If she’s all-in-one, must the boy back down? No! Only a fool did such

So he went again, with the strength of a dying horse
Grabed her garment and cried out.
Am I the problem?
Or my approach?
She’s kind, she answered and she’s straight pointed. “Your approach.”
He’s gladdened and ready to start again with knees on the ground and face to the sky
Seeking divine assistance. God help him.
Who is the boy? He’s the one God must help.

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Edidiong Ibanga is a Nigerian writer from Akwa Ibom State. His writings bother on social justice and imbalance. He treasures writing as an instrument for radical change towards social balance in which he believes. He holds a BA in Mass Communication, from the University of Benin, Nigeria, and currently leaves in Lagos, Nigeria, from where he writes.