By Jomo David
©Joweda
When you see a brown ant carrying lamps of soil
As it move through an open tunnel
Do not hesitate to look down
See how her legs are breaking,
See how her mouth is dancing
And her nipples bursting
Her buttocks whispering.
She is a walking sheep in Israel
She is a maiden cow in an African funeral
She is an artist in Sahara
She is peasant to the presidential candidate
She is a yawn to the scavenger.
As I write this, I am looking at one
I see pity written in her eyes
I see a boiling bomb of loneliness
She is sniffing here and there,
Like a dog tracing a thief
I see desperation in her guts
As she tries to seduce my manhood,
Swaying her waist, as pokomo dancers.
I think she is amazing
Smiling, I look down my paper
Hold my pen
And continue writing.
If you see a brown ant
With plain fingers
Move closer, shake her hand
And ask her name, the African one.
Not Alicia but Fulutsiakha
Not Wafu’ but Waifulah
That is good for you to know if she is your cousin, sister, or someone else, a ‘murendeh.’
Keep your eyes on her eyes and lips
Filter the words she will be saying
Grandpa said, even block the words
She need to memorise what you are telling her
As she huddle down the path,
With an erect chest, towards your cave
Or in grave hair, towards your grave.
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