Knowing Not

I
Repeated actions,
Motions,
Force fulcrum and load,
Physics
Habits ingrained into my psyche,
Faded smiles on a piece of paper,
Memories

II
“Do you love me?” he asked,
“Obviously not anymore. You’re no longer man enough for me.”
She blew wisps of smoke in his face.
He winced,
There was a slash,
Shrill scream.
Spurts of blood.
He held his bloodied hands up to her.
“Here, you need this more than I do.”
Lying in them,
Pulsating,
Thick veined and limp,
His identity,
His life force and virility,
His manhood.

III
The leaves danced in the wind,
Her skirt was lifted suddenly,
Revealing hints of chocolate and lace,
What a lovely derriere.
The heirlooms ordinarily tucked out of sight.
Oh the rude wind.
Greedy eyes drank in,
Straw and all.
She blushed,
As any bashful girl would,
Her hands full,
She was fighting a losing battle.
Heh!
It’s an open secret after all.
Ask the owners of the greedy eyes.
Our eyes met from across the street,
Screeches and honks,
Burning rubber and crude language.
One word,
Ribald.

IV
Little damsel,
Cursed with pulchritude.
Tis a crime to fall in love with you,
I love my sanity,
And frankly I love myself too.
Verisimilitude is stained with blood.
Ask the glass heroes,
Nothing good ever came out of loving a goddess.

V
“So when am I seeing your family?”
Her eyes glowed faintly,
Awash with anticipation.
“You ask too many awkward questions.”
He turned over,
Refusing to look into those eyes,
Even as they began to water ever so slightly.

VI
I fear death so much,
May be,
Because I am young.
I wonder how it would feel like to wake up every day,
Waiting for death,
At my front porch.

VII
I am sad.
“You don’t know me.”
They wear it,
A badge of honour,
Their chests they hit.
What good ever came from keeping secrets from those who matter?
Stockpiling pain,
Stoking furnaces,
To cremate flesh,
Memories stay fresh,
Bleeding anarchy into us.

VII
It makes no sense to me,
Nonsense!
I don’t like you,
But I won’t stand for you being abused.
By
So called generals and magicians.
Hmph!
The only thing good about them are their names.
Frauds,
The lot of them.
Back to you.
Honestly,
You’re just exercise,
A reminder,
Of how good I am.

VIII
Untouchable,
Pariah,
Outcast,
Nomad,
Omega.
Funny,
The alpha dog is.

IX
Joy,
Pain,
Indifference,
Sweetness,
Sour.
Moods and emotions,
Stimulating,
The cadence of a clairvoyant.
Heart lines and open palms,
Are but half the story.
Creepy.
I call it,
Intuition.

X
What are you looking at?
Who are you looking for?
He’s right in front of you.
But
You don’t know him.
Do you even care?
FIN

© Sena Frost 2015

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And They Go…

And They Go…

Here she comes,

Stealing the breaths away,

That of the tobacco stained giggles of the young men and the palm wine flavoured tang of the grey haired draught kings alike.

Here she comes,

Drawing hisses,

(or is it kissing the teeth?)

Of the market women and the homely maidens.

So jealous yet powerless in front of her,

Like fire flickering at the sun.

We hear her before we see her.

They go chi chi chi,

Jiggling with each step.

Her breasts,

Succulent and ripe like the mangoes in da Atsufui’s backyard.

Heaving in their cloaked majesty,

Oh what a bosom.

But no that’s not what I’m talking about.

Listen closely,

They go chi chi chi,

Jiggling with each step.

Her backside,

Rumbling like the gourds strung out to dry at fo Favour’s bar.

Drawing her cloth taut,

And raising the front of any man’s lower garments.

But no that’s not what I’m talking about.

Listen closely,

They go chi chi chi,

Jiggling with every step.

Here she comes,

Stealing the breaths away,

The tobacco stained giggles of the young men and the palm wine flavoured tang of the grey haired draught kings.

Here she comes,

Drawing hisses,

(or is it kissing the teeth?)

Of the market women and the homely maidens.

We hear her before we see her.

They go chi chi chi,

Jiggling with each step.

Juggling her pan on her head,

The firewood bobbing and weaving,

She dances with it,

Moving at her own tempo.

Graceful and supple.

Like her braids fluttering in the wind.

We hear her before we see her,

They go chi chi chi,

Jiggling with each step.

Here she comes,

Stealing the breaths away,

The tobacco stained giggles of the young men and the palm wine flavoured tang of the grey haired draught kings.

Here she comes,

Drawing hisses,

(or is it kissing the teeth?)

Of the market women and the homely maidens.

We hear her before we see her.

They go chi chi chi,

Jiggling with each step.

“Daavi”

The children prance around her,

Capricious little kids.

She smiles,

Dimples,

See dimples la.

“Aaaaah”

Sigh the young men waiting their turn at the barbershop.

She bobs and weaves,

Dancing to her own tune.

Listen!

They go chi chi chi,

Jiggling with every step.

We hear her long after she’s gone.

They say she be a witch.

For me I don’t mind at all,

Because she’s bewitching.

Her cloth slips when she baths,

The water runs down her,

Watering her matted jungles,

Fondling her ripe mangoed breasts,

Sluicing down valleys,

Then bouncing gaily off her backside.

Yes the one which rumbles like the gourds at fo Favour’s bar.

Tip tap,

Tip tap,

Chi chi chi.

The tambourine sounds coming from her bath time,

Tip tap,

Tip tap,

Chi chi chi.

She’s beaded,

With water drops.

Shimmering,

She be a witch,

See,

I am bewitched.

From the crack in the wall,

Perched like harmattan mango,

Ready to fall.

Then I hear her,

They go chi chi chi.

Daavi Akpene’s waistbeads,

Luminescent like a moon bow over Wli,

Crisscrossing and arching,

Embracing her slender pelvis with glee.

Ochre and rust,

Blue and green,

Chattering merrily away,

Chi chi chi they go.

Rows of ritual sensuality,

Robbing men of their hindbrains,

Sending them into echelons of palm wine induced spirituality,

“Oh dadavi,

Mide kuku na wo sia”.

I would gladly die,

To hear them sing their song,

Everyday that she passes through the market square,

Swaying the men with each dip of her hips,

They go like a rutting agama lizard,

Nod nod nod.

Leaving the homely maidens hissing,

(or is it kissing their teeth?)

Ss ss ss.

The children prancing,

As she heads home.

Listen closely,

They go chi chi chi,

Jiggling with each step.

© Sena Frost 2015