Oh woman of the South,
With a gaze that holds my sight,
Hair that falls to her back,
A rhythm for a voice,
Her hips make a sinusoidal wave when she walks.
The village heroine,
The girl of mama's dreams,
Betrothed to me without my consent.
Luck.
She wakes at the crack of dawn,
Scampers across the unwashed dishes,
Littering the floor with yester night's leftovers.
She hangs her wet pant on the bed's ream,
Which makes my pillow wet.
It stinks of rotten eggs,
Yet she still heads out.
I wake up to the cry of my son,
Malnourished and hungry,
Crying for his mother.
But where is she?
She's the darling daughter of the neighbourhood,
She camps at their door steps all day,
Eats with them, washes with them.
I lie hungry in bed all day,
Hungry for food and for the woman I married.
Oh mama,
With only a kanga around her waist,
She sits on men's waists and swings her waist,
Doesn't she care for their thirst?
What about their rising cocks?
The other day I passed by the market place,
Giggles and whispers reached my ears,
I was tempted to stop but I couldn't.
My heart was broken,
Ego was crushed,
Spirit was weakened.
She had laid my white cloth in the muddy rain,
I was heckled and cursed,
Labelled a spikeless porcupine.
She said I did not make her body shatter the way she wanted,
That my pinky couldn't reach her highest throne.
Oh mama, she called it pinky.
Is that the reason she sleeps in jeans?
Dear waves of the ocean,
Darling rays of the sun,
Oh mama,
You married me a child,
Dressed in huge clothes.
Do you see the change in me?
Do you?
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