The Pride Of My Woman Poem by Abel John

Before the sun on her corridor
steps,
In a chat engage I the bamboo
bed;
Praying heavens to send a deep
sleep,
As in dreams arouse with a
bottle of snore to sip.
Just as flashes of light,
The streets I walk set ablaze in
beauty;
And the path in gold paved as
careless as the wind.
The greens of the field with a
million maidens to dress;
A heap of lads to oil the
maidenhairs.
As my heart swims in a pool of
allure
And pounds in a leap,
The journey back I flip.
As the day blink to open an eye,
The sun wouldn't let me be;
Plying on the window for a peep.

How boring tonight it will be,
Not with a sight of the pride of
my woman;
Of a glimpse of her beauty these
dreams are born.
Oh that Joshua would still my
sun,
Till behold I my 'ugiegbe! '
In trembling I jump the fences,
For fear of trouble lay not my
head,
And feeble, as the moon caresses
the sky.
The pride of africa's made me
nostalgic.

The black ornament, her
immunity.
Tens of thousands of angels
Travel the rays of the sun her
skin to nourish,
And roll her up in vitality;
For, against corruption, she must
bathe in divinity.
Upon her oily skin, the treasures
of gold and silver.
And the glittering colouration,
her pride;
She's loamy -the perfect fertile
womb!
Hair like a flock of goat grazing
by the riverside;
Samson's latter strength -
Having better victory when he
died than while he lived.
The green greenish green
habitations -
Forests, hills and mountains, at
peace with the heavens.
For the pride of my woman
protocols waived,
And nature allies with the
highlands.
Earthquake and volcano are
myths;
Tornado's better in fictions.
The surplus supply of gifts as
constant as the sun,
The waters of her pot of life
makes even.
Her culture as vast as eternity;
For this is a treasure beyond
enmity.
Her smooth lips as cool as
cucumber;
And the strength in her muscle
will rain manna.
The pride of my woman,
The strength of a kingdom and
empire!

The tears I cry as her
daughters're given to mutations.
Eyes fixed beyond her mud walls;
Looking more at them,
And becoming mere like them.
All they dream's artistic
colourations,
In a bail out of realistic
admirations.
Now cry they of skin
deteriorations,
As cancer's a parcel of adoption.
A little here, a little there:
A half of treasure's given to
mascara,
Parading the streets like 'okhara; '
In their enchantment our young
men end in massacre,
Tossing their dignity like cascara.
In a thrill for the container we
bind marriages,
And as the content unfolds we
enrol for contests.

Fair beauty's good a commodity.
Fair's clayey - the perfect barren
womb!
It's a meal to an eye
And quenches not the thirst of a
heart.
Porridge is sweet to taste,
But birthright's a priceless jewel;
For the stomach never can blab
what is eaten.
Wipe your eyes oh queen of my
kingdom!
Albeit with honour and pride you
build a castle,
For mourn have I your
daughters,
And was broken to behold
outcasts.
Consent not!
For never can be upheld by half-
castes
The pride of my woman.