Bare innocence lay on broken remains of an altar.
Fading, the Ayoo yi of celebrating women,
the rythmic pounding of pestle against mortar.
Old world sounds usurped by the cacophony of modern noise.
Pale soles & palms stained bridal henna's redish brown.
Trusting eyes, wide shut, soft moonlight caressing ample curves.
Damp green vines inch over dark nubian skin,
so binding willing ankles & aching wrists, for when
death calls, the souls stirs in answer.
As cocks crow, a black hole, a cancer.
Eerie silence falls, streaking on a twin tailed comet boding ill.
Gossipy trees crowd in above the virgin beauty.
Pockmarked sister moon's lamp a sickened ashen gray.
Scything winds revive forgotten harmattan's dusty chill.
Astride it rode a hint of decadence, the breathe of decay.
Great revelry began, discord stole through rustling ranks
with the laughing candace of the talking drum,
and sweeping pestilence blotted out leering stars, as
death calls, the soul stirs in answer.
Creeping forth with the stealth of a shadowmancer.
Churning fills the featureless sky, fury stayed by a hand unseen.
Looming, a shadow of oily blacknesss.
Within the prison of its eyes lurked a 101 damninations.
Fire leapt up, the choking fumes of a funeral prye.
leaving the surrounding forest ridden, desolate.
Wrapped around the sacrifice in a smothering blanket,
took the distinct shape of a feathered serpent, coiled
the lined spikes of its underbelly puncturing the voluptous body.
Rivulets of blood flowed down hands fallen limply for when
death calls, the souls flocks to answer
with intricate steps much like Ndako kansa.
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