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