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A fine f- she was, they said
From Bakweri land to Ngaoundal
Where did she not have a tryst?
Her radiance challenged the sun
And her serpentine-locks its rays-
Presidents bowed to her
Who didn't?
Her lethe-filled lips enslaved many a one
From coast to coast - they were never the same
On their return from cloud nine
Walking spectres they were
She was the loom that spinned their lives
That spinned their lives...
Beauty of beauties, fairest of them all
I ask -
Why do you sit on this stone
At the world's end, looking cadaverous
Could it be that you are enslaved
The way you enslaved nations?
Dzekashu Macviban
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