A century and half will never
make earthenware gleam,
even if it be scoured and forgotten
at the bottom of a stream.
I am earthenware
born daughter of the house
taken wife of the man
created mother of nations,
a burden too big to bear
just like this earthenware
I balance on my head.
This young maiden
blossoming in the rays of youth
my teeth chalk-white
my breasts, mangoes, ready to be plucked
in season, red and ripe.
Passing by on my way from the stream
in skillful balancing acts,
the men sniff after the scents of my
akwete cloth, like he-goats in heat
desire dripping from their eyes to form
pools at my feet.
They say to me:
"Nne come and greet me."
Virile men they are, they wish to prove
that virility.
I am earthenware
balanced on braided hair with care
so sought after when first molded
with the potters skillful kneading fingers,
an artwork catching the eye,
first to be pointed at on a market day
abandoned when cracked and broken,
my contents spilling over.
(Excerpted from "Without a Name" a collection of poems by Val K, coming soon.)
Val K is a poet, and a nature lover. A collection of his poems "Without a Name" will soon be published by AuthorHouse, U.S.A. For personal contact, send mails to: leviathandepthsreturns@yahoo.com
About the Author
Val K is a poet and a nature lover.