Well-cultured, like Zikpak clay in a sculptor’s palm,Nurtured with ancient ornaments, Cowries whispering tales from Bajju hills,Beads woven like the threads of Nok’s lost tongue.
Amada Paul Israel@israelamadapaul172464
3 days ago
FORESIGHT
Faces of your beauty lie not in mere flesh
But in your character, firm, carved fresh
By stories told in moonlight drumbeats,
Where ancestors dance in your heartbeat's rhythm.
Your dark colour no shadow, but a sun
That ignites into blended varieties of beauty
Ebony dipped in the wine of dawn,
A silhouette that silences songs with awe.
Well-cultured, like Zikpak clay in a sculptor’s palm,
Nurtured with ancient ornaments
Cowries whispering tales from Bajju hills,
Beads woven like the threads of Nok’s lost tongue.
Oh, feminine queen among women!
A daughter of the Adara wind,
You walk like a festival procession—
Confident, graceful, with rhythm in your step
Like Ayet Atyap on a golden evening.
Your laughter is brewed in Kafanchan’s valleys,
Sweet and pleasing to my foresight,
A spice that burns through my every sense
You are my downfall and my rising,
A paradox carved by time and longing.
In your presence, I forget to be proud
You, whose hair is a crown of wisdom,
Whose voice holds the hush of sacred groves,
Whose stride mocks the timid and tempts the brave.
You are Southern Kaduna in motion:
Turbans of tradition tied in truths,
A world where masquerades still bless the soil,
And ululations crown the birth of rain.
In your hands, I am unmade and remade,
Not by charm alone but by depth,
By a heritage that breathes through your breath,
And a culture that sings in your silence.
O Queen, whose beauty is prophecy
A living scripture from Kajuru to Kagoro,
Dance through my dreams with your burning dark,
And let me rise, forever scorched, in your light.
@nirclepoetry
