A Zambezi Saga
The brook thrums as it vaults over the piled rocks
Rolling on deep into the Zambezi valley
Twisting, flirting with the rigdes that compliment the escarpment beyond
And the indigenous lass strolled to the rivulet a rose
A dragon rose burgeoning before the morning glory of the sun
Her corn-rows tufted with the vermilion splendour
Of marigold petals she picked along the footpath
The sleeves of chives thriving along the watercourse
Weaved in the refined breeze sweeping across the wafting water surface
She surged on a jade
A jade turning, swinging in the butter sunrays
With every step, every turn
Seeking a new face, reflecting a new light.
Her supple skin freed from fetters of freckles and blotches
By the enchanted resins of the savanna balm
The hale and hearty of the chlorophyllous lily-pads
Reclining their backs against the waters
Consuming their limpid, shading enigma below
Genies, river monsters and cold blooded demons
That loll beneath the swish, patient, cuddling an ambush
She reached the songful stream
With her khakied antique clay pot clasped against her left hip
A treasure handled down her lineage
A pride of the tribal women
The gold then rested in her arms
She furled the pot beneath the mesh of lily-pads to quench its thirst
Offering the thyme of her bountiful body to the monsters
Her clamor short-lived while her breath sheared off
The waters gulped her, with the dye of her flesh teeming off
And the stream clad in red
The ceramic whimpered into shards
The seering forest kept vigil, languid
As it guttered down her tears along its wrinkles
Her palm couldn't bridle her fate
But let it sip off between her fingers
Copyright © Kunda Chamatete | Year Posted 2016
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