Beauty and Beautiful

Ecstacy is beauty
It is a feeling formed to feel
A scent, a wish, a moment
A flower, a dinner, a kiss maybe
Which undescribable, won’t stay
For it is just a sweet mirage
Like a fine deer on the forest,
In the quiet hunting season
The deer ate thru yellow hay
And when the hunters came
To see a quarry, a happy trophy
She disappeared before their eyes

The mist is beauty
It promises water and lays before
The way to the stream and rivers
And the clan will stay back waiting.
Appearing in the morning
In the early wake of the sun
And dressing the clouds sweetly
Making hopes grow for the clan
Cushioning the breadth of Heaven
And blocking the reality before us,
But when the tents are raised
Nothing moist stays after its gone

Money is extremely beauty
It buys the world and love
And islands off the coasts of islands
It buys the poor, the government
But money distracts the focus
Of men and women, old and young
And if unbridled it destroys men
For with much money many things
Can be acquired, good or bad
Tanks and jet fighters, canons and grenades

The tongue is beauty
It holds the strangest of thoughts
The painting of disaster or peace
And if the day will be cold or dry
Hot or wet and if the clouds be bright
The tongue tells these tales before anything
It says the words we love or hate
Even when the heart says otherwise
And make everything quite compromising
The tongue sings song, sweet and sour
And looks solidly upon everyones face
The tongue sets the forests on fire
And hunts the innocent without trial

The smile we wear are like spring water
Throwing its brethren from the crags,
When the fumes of hotness heighten
And the thunder claps of sorrow becloud
A sweet answer and a smile calms the ire

But none of those is truly beautiful
Nay. For beautiful is not in smiles
Nor in great lengths, nor apparitions
Nor in money, nor in the morning mist
Nor in men’s tongue, nor in mere ecstactic thoughts
Nor in eloquency, nor in affluence
But in benevolence of character
And attitudes the beautiful lives

Beauty is not truly beautiful

By Oke Iroegbu

Finance Graduate, Bibliophile and Bard of Ovim, his hometown. Read more at