Agoloso Presents - Atondido Stories Agoloso Presents - Mama Mada | Page 269

Mama Mada
The Woman On My Street by Am ina Daud a Ose m e
The swing in her hips,
The fire in her eyes,
The purse of her lips told me different.
(They told me she was dust, but different.)
Every morning like a mini play,
I lurked my windowsill
Wishing for skin like hers,
Hair likes hers,
Teeth like hers.
It was all there in her smile, this pretty woman on my street.
Her face glittered at night.
Her voice melted hearts of dead gods.
She was cultured and refined.
How I dreamed and dreamed so well
Of a day, I would be her.
Then one morning as I did all mornings,
I waited by my windowsill, and watched her by the roadside,
Clad in velvet fit for a queen.
Lips as red as pomegranate
With dazzling white teeth.
I watched her wait by the roadside
For a passer-by’s compliment.
However, the wind blew;
The Sea swept and the algal bloomed
Yet not one word.
Finally, she took matters into her own hands
And stopped a stranger friend
Covered in dust he made dust look white.
Brown– rusty hair, yellow stained teeth-
Shrivelled black nails,
And said
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