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Thursday, 9 January 2014


When I felt a sky conjured brightness in my
cave mind,
it was like a mid-winter night dream. But
I see out of the most high, the highest
lass of all time.

Nigerian girl, I am alive in my light-innermost
telling and writing of your face alone.
See me through the mile, you are right,
clouded by the leafs of the ‘'Iroko-tree''
covered by the votes of the savannah.
Your voice echoes with the cool night sound
of river-nun.

I can't count the number of your lock,
but the beauty of it, I can.
The cowries labeled at the tail of your
weaved white wool swings like fresh
‘'igbega'', as you mounted it with circean
calabash at the Sahara stream.

I see your fingers sneak into the water,
I liking your steps to the tip-toe moves
Of ‘'Okiolala bird''.
The design of your mesmeric ‘'Hollandaise'' blind
my eyes and the image of your beauty
put me in danger.
I sting and tingle to your black skin.
I can not fell the colour of your eyes or how
it magnates, but Nigerian girl your eyes
gives the logo of the lenient dove
and the courage of her mild wing.

Once I saw you dressed in ‘'Intorica'',
all I could see is how the fulgent moons
pined on you spreads round your naked feet.
The tincture of your lips may be found in
this world, but be not seen by any man.
As for your ear-beads, it dances like
the prance of the palm tree.
Your ear can be blind, but I
will pipe through the eye.

Ayeba mie ye ebimo.
Nigerian girl, you're my royal dainty.       

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