Whoever spots her;
The undisputed Miss Universe--
Clad in purple and scarlet,
In variable weather: fine and filthy,
To my abode summon her,
She's the woman of my dream.
The angelic gem,
Adoring, and of her roots proud:
Tans her skin not,
And forsakes where she was born,
Thirsty for foreign identity fake...
The canon of our secret code,
Enshrined in our ways noble,
At peace is with her.
She tickles not balls of taboo,
By arousing my father's appetite;
By for free selling nakedness,
Like some girls of the city.
She by the hearth sticks not,
To be painted by ash,
Or roast in simmering flames.
The woman of my dream:
In the sun melts,
In the rain dissolves,
Subsidizing my meagre harvest.
A sturdy and brave woman like a lion,
She's shaken not by threats of thunder.
On the forefront with me,
she fights fiercely,
Thence whine not at a foe's spear!
The woman of my dream,
Is not a news seller--
A darling to gossip maniacs.
She is a bee and an ant;
Ever engrossed in her duties.
She has unwavering faith,
In the doctrine of the Almighty.
Not idols of wealth, power, fashion...
So won't we falter on the narrow path...
Her elephants ears,
Can well hear:
Imprisoned whispers afar,
Thence offer a shoulder to lean on.
The woman of my dream,
Has no membraneous bells,
On either side of her head for beauty!
She's eyes clear like a crystal,
Unblinded by fallacious make-ups and scientific wonders.
Through my heart she peers:
To read my desires, hopes and worries.
Through the solid empty tomorrow,
She envisions what the future holds...
My sweetheart, woman of my dream,
Is best schooled;
No task dares challenge her, however abstract!
Thus, she differs truth of lies;
She differs virtues from vices,
And maneouvres, like hare,
Through life's hurdles.
She's a musculine woman!
But less a stinging tail and beard.
She's endowed with an enormous butt;
And ripe, full, sagless breasts,
She's kind, loving and forgiving;
With a vineyard so fertile,
For unending bearing...
She has appetite for kids,
The woman of my dream.
So we'll reproduce like weeds!
Drunk with bliss every day...
She has a flexible heart,
The woman of my dream.
So well it dances to tunes of time...
It hardens to bear turbulence;
It softens to love and soothe...
My beloved woman,
Has an honour for my folks;
And is a credit to hers.
So she'll save some for me, at me click not,
Keep our dirty linen indoors,
And go not with the wind;
When my basket runs out of wheat.
(c) Wafula p'Khisa.
The undisputed Miss Universe--
Clad in purple and scarlet,
In variable weather: fine and filthy,
To my abode summon her,
She's the woman of my dream.
The angelic gem,
Adoring, and of her roots proud:
Tans her skin not,
And forsakes where she was born,
Thirsty for foreign identity fake...
The canon of our secret code,
Enshrined in our ways noble,
At peace is with her.
She tickles not balls of taboo,
By arousing my father's appetite;
By for free selling nakedness,
Like some girls of the city.
She by the hearth sticks not,
To be painted by ash,
Or roast in simmering flames.
The woman of my dream:
In the sun melts,
In the rain dissolves,
Subsidizing my meagre harvest.
A sturdy and brave woman like a lion,
She's shaken not by threats of thunder.
On the forefront with me,
she fights fiercely,
Thence whine not at a foe's spear!
The woman of my dream,
Is not a news seller--
A darling to gossip maniacs.
She is a bee and an ant;
Ever engrossed in her duties.
She has unwavering faith,
In the doctrine of the Almighty.
Not idols of wealth, power, fashion...
So won't we falter on the narrow path...
Her elephants ears,
Can well hear:
Imprisoned whispers afar,
Thence offer a shoulder to lean on.
The woman of my dream,
Has no membraneous bells,
On either side of her head for beauty!
She's eyes clear like a crystal,
Unblinded by fallacious make-ups and scientific wonders.
Through my heart she peers:
To read my desires, hopes and worries.
Through the solid empty tomorrow,
She envisions what the future holds...
My sweetheart, woman of my dream,
Is best schooled;
No task dares challenge her, however abstract!
Thus, she differs truth of lies;
She differs virtues from vices,
And maneouvres, like hare,
Through life's hurdles.
She's a musculine woman!
But less a stinging tail and beard.
She's endowed with an enormous butt;
And ripe, full, sagless breasts,
She's kind, loving and forgiving;
With a vineyard so fertile,
For unending bearing...
She has appetite for kids,
The woman of my dream.
So we'll reproduce like weeds!
Drunk with bliss every day...
She has a flexible heart,
The woman of my dream.
So well it dances to tunes of time...
It hardens to bear turbulence;
It softens to love and soothe...
My beloved woman,
Has an honour for my folks;
And is a credit to hers.
So she'll save some for me, at me click not,
Keep our dirty linen indoors,
And go not with the wind;
When my basket runs out of wheat.
(c) Wafula p'Khisa.
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