The village beauty was she

With voodoo hips

And sweet velvet lips.

She traipsed with promises

Of dawn mildew fragrances 

And ivory gardenia scents.

 

The village beauty was she

With melanin rich skin,

Blessed with a wealthy miasma

Of sun kissed sands

And silhouette darkness

With silky, smooth softness.

 

The village beauty was she

With pyramid tall braids,

Bedecking her massaged roots

Wrapped like Tour Eiffel locks

Of black cotton threads

On her myrrh perfumed scalp.

 

The village beauty was she

A proud picturesque princess

Like a Kibuuka painting

Sketched by mosaic colours.

She was a haloed jewel

Scintillating in this mundane galaxy.

 

The village beauty was she

She danced by poplar trees,

Melodic movements mystic.

She held the villagers in hypnosis

With the charms of her seduction,

Eyes flashing like summer stars.

 

The village beauty was she,

Breasts ripe like small melons

Tall like an African giraffe,

Unaware of her inebriating loveliness,

Was this daughter of Kasaato.

Bakima was her name

The village beauty was she.