HEY! SEX GIRL By BM Dzukogi

Running on the street
you have grounded aestheticism
to hawk your grace, endowed
in the woodland of beasts
running in several furrows
of the jungle, preying
on the purity of virginity
innocence of femininity.

As your gay, scribes
the heart of spectators
to produce sexual flames
your poise, aloof
in forced equilibrium
spectators have gone berserk
sprawling on wild imaginations
to catch a glimpse
of the ghost in the street
the acclaimed beauty
for European markets.

Dear spectators
curtail your glee
the queen leading the pack
isn't the champion
heading for victory
not the African pride
in gorgeous Adire
see her gaits
a distorted athleticism
skinny, skimpy rags
she dangles
not of a courageous athlete
she gallops
not of a rhythmic gymnast
she glitters
not of a blooming virgin
but of a developing
raw material due for export
to European markets
to hawk the death
in her pant.

Sex-Girl
as you pass-by in nudity
with sack-load of milk
fed not on children
but famished men
whose heart are dry

As you pass-by
with masked-faced of colours
that brightens not a home
but streets and brothels.

As you pass-by
with unwashed underwear
sprinkled with perfume
to produce rowdiness
look back and see the casualties
your concoctions have slain
the beasts sprinting after you
cheered not your hips
but the stains of immorality
left of your escapades
you struggle to be beautiful
there you are a scarecrow
with death in your pant.

Dear Sex-Girl
as you hawk your treasury
behold the result of your deluded pageantry
your enamoured trade
in nakedness.

Face:
re-carved yet shapeless
undulating and scary
defeated and flat
all painted for AIDS contest.

Eyes:
sunken and sympathetic
dark, less inspiring
going blind with colours
red, inflammable and demonic
all painted for AIDS contest.

Buttocks:
packed up in sweat-log trousers
steaming and fuming
bait for vultures
men who despoils
companion of dirt
tear off those skinny silky things
pitiable walking doll
your back is not that ball of beauty
bumps of pores
black mass of flesh
carrying death in its chambers.

Hello Sex-Girl:
Receding beauty
beholder of the golden cylinder
with death, now in it
how shall I tell you?
You once looked bright
without colours
how shall I tell you?
You once glistened without oils
how shall I tell you?
You once were a flower
without attachments
What hymns shall I compose?
To espouse your bloom
do you not listen to the African drum
of the glorious past
denouncing indecent sounds
listen to the oratory of her gongs
does it not espouse
the glitz in you
at the village square
that you - the 'sterile virgin'
the bridal torch
with buba and aso-oke
and golden beads
the uncoloured damsel
that lit the yard
the bearer of children
for a proud heritage
that you were beautiful!