Moon-she, I long to behold you again,
That mouth watering lady I grew around;
I long to see your embeamed and painted face again.
To see those women squat publicly to urinate,
To see those teenagers puff out smoke happily,
To touch the honey skirt ladies that
Entangle a lust lost eyes into ruin while still living.
O moon-she, my love! You are not a moon-chain,
Mushin is never good for your kind but moon-she
As mother throw praises to your honeyed body.
I have your skyscraping bungalow in my eyes,
I have the hustling and hush movement clothed my legs.
I have known the fragrance of your body,
That old dame body odour that makes me joyful.
Your shoes have I worn about Lagos streets and
I felt accepted among the titans around town.
Oh moon-she, you are not a mushin but moon-she.
I still remember the taste of your breast milk;
That milk that is not channeled in one direction.
I know mother Eko, I know you moon-she.
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016