To the Women of Accra

TO THE WOMEN OF ACCRA

Your glowing skin
Speaks the language of love,
Of hope, of diligence immense
Your untiring hands wield the ladle
Your child snug in a cloth tied to your back
Serving as a cradle.
Onward, you plough
‘On the pulse of morning’.
Kneading dough, baking cakes and bread
There is power in your tread.
In your waltzing eyes and lyrical body
Your tactile warmth, your glowing face
Your lissome grace.
I feel love cascading in joyous profusion.
Dormant lies a creative explosion
Your open arms embrace many
To your throbbing, pulsating bosom’s core
Leaving one yearning for more.
“Now she is rising ‘
‘Now she is striding’,
Maya Angelou utters through the mists of time.
Yes, she is rising, she is striding,
I can see the reason in her rhyme.