My body is gold

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Ever tried to break gold?

With your own bare hand?

Did you feel the stiff?

Would you trade gold for brass?

Or try to sweep it like some grass?

Gold is a precious shiny stone-not a straw

My body –this body you see, is gold

I may be short, small or huge

With my lappa stained with red palm oil

Swamped by crying babies in the kitchen

Or, I may be carrying my bucket,

Filled with pepper, okra, and corn

But with these, I put food on that table

Can’t you see my courage shines like lightening?

I may be walking in mud down waterside

But I smile like the bright morning sun

Does that make me a cow that you beat to move?

Why do you knock me down and gang rape me like hungry thirsty leopards?

Am I sweeter than honey?

And you laugh like its funny?

You are a coward, cruel and shameless

Why do you keep me dirty, barefooted and broken?

Are you afraid of the radiance in my eyes?

Do you fear the glamour of my beauty?

Are you struck by the size of  my hips?

Are you intimidated by the glow of my breasts?

Now, hear me young man

This body you beat is gold

Are you a beast, built to beat a woman?

If you’re Hercules, why not jump on a lion in his den?

Is your prowess fixed for women?

But, you don’t know gold

Someday, you’ll see a real man

A man with arms thicker than yours

And chest wide for my body

With voice that vibrates like thunder

And hands stronger than oxen

But, he, like a knight, guards me like a queen

And guess what?

This man, my man, is a real man

Like a miner, he knows gold, even in dirt

And he cleans it up and sets it in a jar

And marvels at the splendor-enjoying his treasure

But, you poor man

You were blinded by a ghost

Never knew the gold you had

And boy, oh boy, when you know this

I’ll flee like a bird and be gone

When it hits your door, you’d be done

Left with your over grown ego

Chained in a cage

Stuck with your rage

Did you think you could dim my bulb?

And blow my lamb

I’ll still be on fire

When we pass you by

Rolling your wheelbarrow on the outskirts of duala

You’ll hide your face behind the mountain’s back

With your torn-out trouseurs, asking in your coloqua-da my woman there?

This face you bruise is gold

This nose you punch is gold

This arm you twist is gold

This leg you sweep is gold

This body, my body is gold.

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