Modern daughters

Those children dressed in rugs, That made them better than the rich, And their gray faces that looked Like children of holy ghosts. It was not a shock but a reality, I sat opposite the stage of performance, In a school visitation day Where hardworking parents were expected, Expectant of their children’s performance. I was tempted to call it a living hell. I am sorry for my eyes: This little girl came forward. A girl with little shy breasts, And that skirt; short like The distance between eyes, Her limbs, tall and slender Like the fattest grass in Buluganya forest And like a pig burning with libido…….. For a man-pig. All the house brought their attention closer. She spread her arms forward, Pulled her brief skirt Above her dirty raw thighs, And then she twisted her wasp like waist. Her legs begun colliding as She started stealing in her dances. That was but the beginning Of my wonder up to tomorrow. The house was then full of fire; Full of malodorous orders, Mixed with unbathed bodies And the gods that women use for beauty. And then she collided on the floor again, Like a millipede running away from danger. She rapidly moved her buttocks From bottom to top artfully Like graduates in their last rehearsals. The whole room was then lost in laughters, All the attention only set on her All their eyes only pointing onto her. All their faces were twisted, To send her smiles of applause Their teeth were cemented out, To send their cheers And all their heads nodding To give her company……….. She then turned to them her back And lifted her buttocks again, Rotated before them Like a bee guarding its hive. She then walked on her hands, While breaking and mending her back In what they called break dance. She danced all dances, The dances I had never seen. She danced all styles, The styles I had never seen. That young girl is a mature woman Spoilt by either her mother or father, At such a tender age.