By Musa Okwonga. Photo by Abbie Lucas of Creation Company

To some people
My love is somewhat alien;
When he comes up, they start subject-changing, and
In some states he’s seen as some contagion –

In those zones, he stays subterranean;
Some love my love; they run parades for him:
Liberal citizens lead the way for him:
But the same time as some countries are embracing him,
Whole faiths and nations seem ashamed of him:

They’ve tried banning him,
God-damning him,
Toe-tagging him,
Praying that he stayed in the cabinet,
But my love kicked in the panelling, and ran for it –
He’s my love! Can’t be trapping him in labyrinths! –

Maverick, my love is; he thwarts challenges;
The cleverest geneticists can’t fathom him,
Priests can’t defeat him with venomous rhetoric;
They’d better quit; my love’s too competitive:
He’s still here, despite the Taliban, the Vatican,
And rap, ragga in their anger and arrogance,

Who call on my love with lit matches and paraffin –
Despite the fistfights and midnight batterings –
My love’s still here and fiercely battling,
Because my love comes through anything;
My love comes through anything.