No comments yet


Serer Woman [Serer Woman]

Of the kingdoms of the Sine
and Saloum,
May God lengthen your life.

To Serer’s
Ancient saints, ancestral spirits
And all the tribes of Senegal
Brotherly greeting.

I am a
Wandering Piper
Standing on the knoll of your knee
To sing you songs…

Pleasant Woman

Sizzling aroma
Of pounded coos, of gourmet thiéboudienne

Slender vines
Of healing fragrance;
Groves of pines intermixed with tangerines

Submitting kisses to the Cap-vert
of Dakar,
Submitting kisses to the cliffs of Toubab Dialao

Flowers of the River Sine;
Dyilor’s fermented milk, gaping the mouth of Sahel
Gaping the mouth of El Hadji Diouf

Lyrical Woman

Youssou N’Dior
Strumming kora at Khoye,
Akon striking
balafon at Raan festival
Trembling under the giant feet
Of Yakhya Diop

Eagles soaring
Beneath the plumes of clapping
desert wind

Winged shadows
Plucking prosody from the nerves
Of farthest whirlwind…

Stark Beauty, Dazzling Beauty

Shimmering in the sunlight,
Bamboozling the buffaloes
At the foot of Les Mammelles

Sidereal stars
Reflecting our villages in the mirror
of your swaying hair

Rainbows faint at the first sight
Of your pliant skin

In the night
Of your presence,
Darkness transforms into lights, Gathering clouds transfigure to lightning.
Fairy-tale Woman

Griot of the Kingdoms Of the Sine
and Saloum

of ripe voice
To generations

Mahecor Joof,
Isatou Nije-Saidy,
Leopold Sedar Senghor

All sucked
From the penury of your
pitch-black breasts –

breasts underneath
The oxter of the sea-air
of Dyilor.

Under the parasol
of your wooded arms
They became talking drums

And the
Lamplight of your eyes
Watched over them.

Mysterious Woman

Your lashes
That stitch the fragmented
Heart of a cloud

Are the
Ancestral Totems of Serer’s

In the
Circumference of your ank-let,
Opposite Fandène

Earthquakes struggle
To hug the zephyr promenading
On your fleshy leg.

The couch
Of your screaming silence

There strange skies sit
And perch their gaze at
The treasures of Mali, Guinea, Gambia…

O Black Mother of countless Heroes

Tomorrow arrives
I shall build my huts
By the bank of your breath;

But this moonlight,
Let me recline on the mat
of your smile

Listen to your
home-spun tales… Mother!

*For Diao Ba’s mother, a Senegalese born American Poet. A Friend

Written by: Madu Chisom Kingdavid
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson

Author: admin

I am a member of the WRR editorial team.

WordPress Themes
%d bloggers like this: