Are You Beautiful Yet?


Growing up in the hills of the Sub Saharan
Your lips are pieced with hot iron
The trunk of your legs
Molded from youth in the shape of a pestle
The ears are pierced so big beads
Colourful in all its glory
Can peep at us from there
Fats adorn your your belly and buttocks
And you are adjudged beautiful or primitive

So you are planted this time in the west
Where necks grow out of sockets
The spiral wire,like ostrich, pecking the sky
Hollow eyes,on hollow bellies,on hollow buttocks
Not a thing to hold the clothes in place
And that too is called beautiful or
So I stand here in the city between
Not primitive,not modern, asking,
Am I beautiful yet


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