The Art of Love

She smears mud on a wall
Like a kindergarten painter.

Dirt under her fingernails
Hardens the heart.

Though her paintings sale
Like a snail's pace,

Her face shines
As words woven on a spider web.

Across the street
Fireflies raise torches.

Distant church bells
Echo a calling from the Cross.

Prescribe no more pills
To clear this linguist's thoughts.

It's in the puzzles
that love makes sense.

© Titus Kuweruza 2004

Even When I Fall

Fallen brownish leaves
Rot in my front lawn
Like crumbled statues.

Deprived trees
Stand bare as refugees
Fleeing a war-torn regime.

Occasional  showers
Scrub blood-stained skins
Awaiting frozen relief.

On rooftops
Winds hurl hymns
For withered hearts in camps.

I watch flowers attract bees
Through a language
That lasts a couple of months

When summer drops down
Crusts of clouds
Hardly conceal its wrath.

Heat scorches adored layers
But scars remain
Like hope and faith.

Even when I fall
Seasons shall continue.

© Titus Kuweruza 2004

Guitar Strings

I wake up
To the strings of your guitar,
Music fills my heart
Like snow on the lawn.

Addictive computer games
Can't forfeit overdue loans,
Crystals in your eyes
Remind me there is love.

I fumble the telephone
Forgotten long distance numbers
Faint as real names
Of my childhood models.

It's true some mentors
Choose not to represent
But their actions
Put them on the pedestal.

I look for a water fountain
To quench my thirst
Regardless of a season
And that's the reason
I embrace these stars.

The way heads turn
When she enters a room
I would believe
Everything she teaches me.

The sound of a drum
Over my shoulders
Makes me run
Into your arms.

After all these observations
And candid confessions
Would you still love me?
Would you still be my mentor?

I cover my mouth
But strings of your guitar
Keep on playing
My favorite tunes.

© Titus Kuweruza 2004