The village beauty was she
With voodoo hips
And sweet velvet lips.
She traipsed with promises
Of dawn mildew fragrances
And ivory gardenia scents.
The village beauty was she
With melanin rich skin,
Blessed with a wealthy miasma
Of sun kissed sands
And silhouette darkness
With silky, smooth softness.
The village beauty was she
With pyramid tall braids,
Bedecking her massaged roots
Wrapped like Tour Eiffel locks
Of black cotton threads
On her myrrh perfumed scalp.
The village beauty was she
A proud picturesque princess
Like a Kibuuka painting
Sketched by mosaic colours.
She was a haloed jewel
Scintillating in this mundane galaxy.
The village beauty was she
She danced by poplar trees,
Melodic movements mystic.
She held the villagers in hypnosis
With the charms of her seduction,
Eyes flashing like summer stars.
The village beauty was she,
Breasts ripe like small melons
Tall like an African giraffe,
Unaware of her inebriating loveliness,
Was this daughter of Kasaato.
Bakima was her name
The village beauty was she.
Jane Musoke-Nteyafas
Tuesday 11th December 2001
All rights reserved.
No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied
without written permission of the author
Copyright JMN 2001
