Crush on a village girl

By Atok Dan

With ivory in her mouth

spaced by a gap that glitters like fresh asphalt on the unused highway

her elegant giraffe like-neck that was hardly undifferentiated,

her from flamingos tapping fishes along the Nile,

and a body molded with shiny clay from the river,

her spongy hip remains an imaginative mattress

I feel no more to narrating her beauty,

never has she ever gone for a world beauty contest,

she suffers a great silence,

envied by many for a beauty that never earns her a coin

A crush on her earned me unstoppable hallucinations,

 hardly can these days and nightmares give me a break,

neither do I break a break from picturing none existing images,

of a village mirror,

a crush on a village that gives birth to the world's most perfected body,

like what I saw in a village that remains indelible in my mental recorder

 when I glance, I still wonder of,

ingredients nature had assembled into her,

I found her nowhere but in the village that nursed her

into a jeweler on the world stock exchange

her beauty never fluctuates like the rate of the American dollar,

determinable only by the raise and fall of oil

A fixed glance on her waist loosen tears from trachoma-free eyes,

and a swagger of an arm voluntarily rests an eye into its orbit,

she is from that village that nursed her

a crush or hatred, but dotted love

All I could remember is I admired her

whether fed on fertilizer or an organic,

she still smiles milk in her mouth,

she hails from a cattle camp,

product of a white liquid,

of a cow milk

My crush on the stream of a village skeleton,

sets an inextinguishable fire of love,

if I try to bow off seeing her image,

she still towers in the valley,

when I raise my eyes to measure differential depth,

already had she glows the camp with radiation of beauty

with shiny black African melanin

When I again back off completely from her image,

I’m tired of admiration

yet she still in her hide dress,  

is no more but an addition to what had slipped off my eyes,

I met her first in the great valley of Atuet-nyiel,

three miles down to Da’Chuek village of Piom-ahol,

barefooted not far away from Panyagor

She again whirlwinds down in the cattle camp of Murle

that is never further from Kong-kong river in Pibor,

and again raising my eyes,

I saw her adorned in house ornaments,

down in the flat basin of Pakudhuom heading to Akot of Unity state,

she is already a resident of my birth village

 Had nature bungled ideas,

only will you realize seeing her dressed in skin hide,

yet magnificently admirable in the eyes of seers,

she only travels in the mountains,

my crush on a village beauty explores no idea,

and my brain remains in jail of love

I had a crush on a village girl