The Festival Poem by venessa ambrose

The noisy mothers
Endowed their single maidens with Ashebi and gele
Swinging there cracking waistline
To show forth to their young the ancient choreography of our aging tribe.

The ancient festival comes to dawn once more,
Our traveled hero takes to crown a maiden head to the throne,
A pure sacrifice
To grace royalty by choice,
A bride of exquisite breeding.

As a child of earnest wariness
and keen scrutinity, I gazed
As maidens of similar aeon
Parade their fleshy endowment
To a crowd of hungry onlookers.

With no glamorous regalia to pride my native curves
And show forth my beautiful magic
I hid by the crowd with watery eyes
Watching the virgins of my province.

All I had were immaculate songs,
A blessing form the lord of epistle
Word from a melodious soul
With no gold to offer,
I had words but made no mark,
Royalty was all that counted.