OLUCHUKWU – by Chukwuka Ozoffor
A Poem Dedicated to Africa and my Love
She is a typical African lady
Suckled under her very dark vegetation
Led by the Moon herself
Felled into her cosy uterus
Like some lumbering akpaka leaf
Only and just to make an mpu and aru of aberration
An extreme virtue of blood, flesh and Mmiri Okike
She has her sensual pictures in Heavens
Taken with the lightning flashes
By Chukwu Okike Himself
Sensational body
Bathed by Chukwu Okike Himself
In flex
She moved down, about and up
During downpours and for the thunderous music
Then, she was still a youngster
She is drunk from the blackish waters
Tipsy, there is palm wine froth in her mouth
Red lips painted with fresh palm fruit
She consumes oil and yam and coco yam
Her hairstyle is plaited with palm fronds
The very much youngish ones of their kind
She has arrows as breasts
Erecting up
Very straight up like some horizontal Mount
Kilimanjaro
Be you Ekwensu, the god of war
Be you what
When she shoots
You surely would join her captives
She is in short a Mami Wota
The one that lives in Mmiri Nile
She is black and of course beautiful
The shine on her forehead
Rises like Mmiri Okike
Spreading into four as her limbs
There are forest fires in her eyes
Crescent hips
Thighs like the red eve moon
No man dares stare
Against the compulsive veins to react
She is oluchi
The very handsome handwork of Chukwu Okike
A watery queen of the Spirits
The formlessness of perfection
She is Ozichi
A fairness that is but fixed
Priceless, marketable and outstanding
A descendent of royal beauty
She is Love
Her birthday suit is regalia
A planet of its own
Her legs are straight projected
They are nothing gay
Elegant movement that blows the mind
Like that of Ani, the Earth goddess
Her warm-press-hug alone As it is held unto
Evident
Converts from a coward
With some specialized machine gun
A warrior of liquid shooting
She owns a round mug
That is oval and straight
A kinda a pretty calabash
Married with her drinking mug
Her presence and her being
Like some sweet fat yams on harvest
Sends the farmer’s praises to his chi
She heals the world’s sorrows
She is naturalness beyond explication
Paltry words are merely meagre
Have fallen short the large extent of her analysis
She is a goddess in the midst of the living
Some gods’ faculty of consciousness
And the soul of illumination
A demi-goddess whom immortals themselves too
desire.