The Dance Of The Nude Poem by Moses Kainwo

The picture on my son’s wall violates my visit:
The blues from the wild west with four legs.
In the nude they dance on the wall:
I can’t guess when that drawing entered his poll,
Entered my son’s poll,
To find a place on the western wall of his parlour.

I thought my culture was violated upon first sight,
But when I entered the guest room I felt I was raped.
Indeed the nude dance started way back,
When his father said don’t misbehave or I’ll send you away…
From decency … Away!
From heaven to hell, from this Ka to that Ka.

And the day I stepped outside to view the sea,
Four legs danced on the porch like they came down from the wall:
Four human legs of equal shape and length as those on the wall.
And there too the walls were loaded so much,
With the nude parade so much
As coming from abroad like my learned son.

I am a prisoner of conscience within these walls,
And my youth-age visits me with a raised axe:
So I ask, what did I deprive you of in those days?
I denied you cinema going in good faith my love,
But not study time my love,
So I draw a clean landscape not a dirty mindscape.

But here this returnee has chained our landscape
And introduced multifaceted hills to the plain,
Thereby raping even the breast that gave him bread.
But what will weeping do to a drunken son in the nude?
Only sharpen his pencil of nude!
But that new drawing will not violate my eyes, never!