Okute, The Oil Painter. Poem by Monkals Kalu

Okute's eyes are swollen
Like one who's had a long cry
Quite unlike a cheerful painter.

Never seen his art studio
So carefully scattered
Canvas looks lazy on the floor
Pallets and brushes littered like toys

Taunting trauma
Mars his countenance
He reels back haggardly.
But Okute never drinks!
A cup of coffee gets him drunk.

Such a creative delight
On a good day he entertains
He'll stand the easel unflinchingly
Hang the canvas with skillful flair
Picks one of his bristle paintbrushes.

Then he'll delicately strike colors
Of oil paint on canvas, revealing
Colorful portraits of pure happiness
Paintings that excites a tearful eye.

But now,
Okute that never frowns,
Is so sad and chattered.
Emotional trauma has left
Him uncreative and battered
His lover has slept too early
And has gone breathlessly warm
In the arms of a once cheerful Painter.