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Israel Oyedeji Nigeria
Student @ Obafemi Awolowo University
In People and Society 1 min read
The reality of love
<p>Fantasy wasn't it.</p><p>For reality was this.</p><p><br/></p><p>At that very moment, it wasn’t head over heels,</p><p>in the way the stories say.</p><p>She was on her knees—</p><p>a rare, raw sight.</p><p><br/></p><p>I saw then that this was affection from the heart.</p><p>This was love.</p><p><br/></p><p>No story told it this way , I witnessed a selfless act,</p><p>just so me and my sister would be allowed back in.</p><p>She got there as soon as she could after the call.</p><p><br/></p><p>Not minding the coldness of the floor,</p><p>she didn't hesitate to go to her knees,</p><p>she didn't stutter to make her plea.</p><p>She gave them a date—</p><p>a promise made of impossible air.</p><p><br/></p><p>We were met back in.</p><p>And I could see in her eyes:</p><p>I would do anything for my children's comfort.</p><p><br/></p><p>She sold her phone to meet the deadline.</p><p>Her children would be let back in.</p><p>For comfort isn’t found in silk or lace,</p><p>But in the lines of resolve upon her face.</p><p>They would not lack formal education.</p><p><br/></p><p>It was not magic that set our futures free,</p><p>But the woman who knelt so we might see.</p><p>Reality wasn't a fantasy.</p><p>Reality was my mother.</p><p><br/></p><p>She was love at that moment.</p><p>And still is.</p>
Competition entry | World Poetry Day

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