The Village Boy

With muscles and height I adored,

His teeth I adored,

White as snow I dare say,

His heart as pure as a baby’s

A warrior amongst the warriors,

For his people he knew to defend

Strange how he gazed

Like the future he knew for sure,

He, my dear friend was the village boy


Hatred and Anger he knew not,

A smile he always had,

For today he could say

Was the only surety he had

My dear friend I tell you,

His voice was music to my heart,

Many adored his steps

For he moved with grace,

And he knew no race


With sadness he laid to rest

The fallen heroes he called them,

Love he preached for friends and foes,

I tell you, he walked in humility,

Strangely he walked in sovereignty,

How I wish I would be near him,

His hand in mine he would lay

The village boy my friend,

Was sweeping the village

And cleaning the households,

Of its dust and filth


Do you understand my friend?

That which I try to say,

Of whom I speak

Yes the village boy

He who brought love peace and joy,

But he who the village showed pain

Oh! How I wonder so

For I looked at his eyes

When they matched him off the streets,

To the village square,

Oh! How I wonder so


When I looked at his bruised back,

When he was lashed,

Before the women and children,

Stop I wanted to say,

But fear,

Oh my dear friend,


I tell you my friend,

For this was the village boy,

The one I adored

The one I cared for,

Do you understand my friend,

Of whom I speak of

Yes my friend,

He was the village boy


 By: Beatrice A. Ouma


















The Dance

Often waits for the dark,

For the spark,

Many times at dawn,

When the desire is born,

Begins with the beat,

Beat by beat but not in street,

Louder it gets,

Slowly it wets,

Together they dance,

Pleasure in chance,


And steeper,

Up and down,

For the white and brown,


With no measure,

Then it is done,

In minutes gone,




Sweet Adora (2016)

My heart beats for you,

Sweet Adore,

Every beat,

Spells thy name,

Sweet sweet Adora,

But will you ever know?

As every time I try to say,

I get tongue tied,

My heart beats louder,

My pores open up,

And I can’t just say it,

For fear of the unknown,


I see you in my dreams,

Amongst the cream,

Holding my hand

And confessing your love,

But will you ever see it

In my gentle eyes

As I look at you with admiration,

Will you ever see it in my eyes?

As they give me away,

 I can’t say it,

For the fear of the unknown


I laugh at the thought of you,

Sweet Adore,

Keep your memories close,

Sweet sweet Adora,

But will you ever feel it,

The touch of my love,

When am close to you,

Will you ever feel,

The air of love around us,

Sweet Adora,

For I may not bring myself to tell you,

For fear of the unknown


I yearn for you,

Sweet Adora,

From my Crucked Rib

In deep thoughts today,

I hear we were molded from clay,

But was she made from my crucked rib?

And put in my crib?


She’s not a straight script,

If you catch my drift

With the asides,

And the decides


She’s as strong as a stallion,

But she’s also a chameleon,

Today she’s cold, tomorrow warm,

And at times she breeds the storm


She’s not red or white but pink,

She glows at the sight of my ink,

Her “yes” used to be a “No,”

But there is even more!


She’s a natural artist,

The makeup would say the least,

And with the hill’s heels

She lives as she feels



Crucked I say,

Yet without her I can’t stay,

She’s the oil,

And together we toil,


But again I ask and wonder,

This question I ponder,

Was the woman made from a crucked rib?

And put in my crib?