By Olive Chao

I heard they are called feelings.
The uneasiness I feel when he is around
My loss of words when he speaks
The shame at my blondness
Yet my hair is as black as coal
And Waswahili walinena, “Akili ni nywele, kila mtu anazake”.

My intelligence escapes me
For every thing he speaks of becomes new knowledge.
Maybe I grow dumb when he is around
Or i stop concentrating when I am in his class
Choosing to be a student
He, the book I read
His behaviours, the stories I want to explore
His principles, the treasures I hold

But I ask
Is it love?
I take a few seconds to contemplate
A smile at the mention of his name?
Sadness when he lacks in the room?
I lack an understanding of what’s true.

I’m I infatuated?
Or merely in love with his IQ?
Endless tales of his daily adventures
Philosophy and Psychology
Casual conversation
Will I be jailed for loving the brains
Other than the vessel that harbours them?

My Fellow Reader
What is your take on this?

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