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Zambia the Real Africa

 

 

 

Play Me The Marimba

Dancing to my long held melody

I visualized myself as an African princess

The Marimba; played by a striking woman clothed in beads

She smiled and frowned to demonstrate the reality of my melody

 

With beads around my neck, breasts, waist and ankles

And face painted by the village artists

I longed for a new leaf that I had to turn ceremoniously

My initiation

 

Never a time could I wiggle to the sound of the drumbeat

Played by hefty men that awaited the release of the virgins

Never a time could I finally comprehend my song

 

I drifted to a place of acceptance, of nudity

I found my place of restoration and high spirits

And complete was my picture also framed in colorful beads

Forever, it will be a pleasant memory of womanhood in my life

 

I remembered the frown on my Marimba woman

A poisoned spear through an innocent soul

It’s cause untraceable

My new leaf would still have to fight its own battles

For not all my days will be filled with smiles and color

 

She hit a high note and smiled again

Only this time, she laughed and sang with unspeakable joy

With strength, independence and complete control

I caressed myself in dance to experience her power

I chanted entertaining words of tradition in tune with the rhythm

Clapped my hands to the sound of the drumbeat

My Marimba

My colorful life

I still remember the colors of a virgin  

 

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