The Messiah

Her skin is the color of melted honey
Brown eyes, soft and intelligent
Sensual full lips, the color of Ivorian cocoa beans
Lips that have kissed the gods
A bosom warm with promises of exotic delights
As she walked into the temple,
Swaying hips the size of the Zambezi
You can hear a pin drop.
The priest paused in mid-sentence
And the gay choirmaster grinned like a Cheshire cat.
For all knew, the messiah had come.
And salvation was there, for those who seek.

She sashayed across the temple
Pausing to make a predictable bow
Before the altar
Soft  brown eyes
Held his gaze
A moment's recognition
For his authority
His ownership of his space
In the abode of the gods

Swaying hips from which life comes forth
She sat
In the back row
With the lepers and the poor
The air filled with the fragrance
Scents of incense and sweet oils
And you can hear
The saints exhale
They call her the messiah
Odinakagi (It is in your hands)
The bearer of truth
Guardian of the flaming essence of womanhood
Giver of life and succor
Loved by all who seek the truth
Crucified by those who labor to hide it

The priest resumed his sermon
The gay choirmaster now wore
A permanent smug
The lepers felt  beautiful
With the self-esteem
Of supermodels
The poor settled in nicely
Like the nouveau riche
For in her presence all are equal
And all possess a gift
Unique to each one

His gaze constantly searched
 her's
For the truth in the message was 
In her soul
And he must not veer from it
Soft brown eyes transfixed
Nudging him to speak the one truth
Upon which his life depended
For his life would become nothing
If it died
The truth, is we all seek
Is not hidden between her thighs
But glows constantly
Within us
Golden like the daffodils
It lays, slightly buried under the surface
And if we truly seek 
We must dig 
Within self
if we listened to the one voice
Our intuition
Our savior
Constantly in the background
The intuition is the messiah
The salvation we seek

copyright @ Ngozichi Omekara Sept 22, 2013