Crush on a village girl
By Atok Dan
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With an ivory in her mouth
spaced by a gap that glitters like fresh asphalt on unused highway
her elegant giraffe like-neck that hardly undifferentiated,
her from flamingos tapping fishes along the Nile,
and a body molded with shiny clay from the river,
her spongy hip remains an imaginative mattress
I feel no more to narrate her beauty,
never has she ever gone for world beauty contest,
she suffers a great silence,
envied by many for a beauty that never earns her a coin
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A crush on her earned me unstoppable hallucinations,
hardly can these day and nightmares give me a break,
neither do I break a brake from picturing none existing image,
of a village mirror,
a crush on a village that gives birth to world most perfected body,
like what I saw in a village that remains indelible in my mental recorder
when I glance, I still wonder of,
ingredients nature had assembled into her,
I found her nowhere but in the village that nursed her
into a jeweler on world stock exchange
her beauty never fluctuates like rate of American dollar,
determinable only by raise and fall of oil
———————–
A fix glance on her waist loosen tears from a trachoma free eyes,
and a swagger of an arm voluntarily rests an eye into its orbit,
she is from that village that nursed her
a crush or hatred, but dotted love
———————-
All I could remember is I admired her
whether fed on fertilizer or an organic,
she still smiles milk in her mouth,
she hails from a cattle camp,
product of a white liquid,
of a cow milk
———————
My crush on stream of a village skeleton,
sets inextinguishable fire of love,
if I try to bow off seeing her image,
she still towers in the valley,
when I raise my eyes to measure differential depth,
already had she glows the camp with radiation of beauty
with shiny black African melanin
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When I again back off completely from her image,
I’m tired of admiration
yet she still in her hide dress,
is no more but an additional to what had slipped off my eyes,
I met her first in the great valley of Atuet-nyiel,
three miles down to Da’Chuek village of Piom–ahol,
barefooted not far away from Panyagor
———————–
She again whirlwinds down in the cattle camp of Murle
that is never further from Kong-kong river in Pibor,
and again raising my eyes,
I saw her adorned in a house ornaments,
down in flat basin of Pakudhuom heading to Akot of Unity state,
she is already a resident of my birth village
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Had nature bungled an ideas,
only will you realize seeing her dressed in skin hide,
yet magnificently admirable in the eyes of seers,
she only travels in mountains,
my crush on a village beauty explores no idea,
and my brain remains in a jail of love
I had a crush on a village girl
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