A Singing Letter from a Girl with Beards

By Alexander Opicho
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1) A Singing Letter from a Girl with Beards
I sing this song from the bottom
Of native valley, though highly crested
On the wave on my inner person
Cruising the summits of active ignorance
In the world of man in eerie looks and stare
At the beards on my face as if at the owl they look

But I am only a girl harmlessly wearing the truth
of my blood in the beards on my face,
fear me not that I carry package of death
for African men that will dare for my hand
your foremen’s tuition gave you false piety
my beards kill not those that will love me,
my hirsute mars not sweetness amid my legs
just come on you sons of Africa my love is for you
my heart’s love is a theme minus motif of death

it is only foolish fear giving you mirage of death,

I convert not fortune to disgrace, want to affluence,

Life to death, success to doomsday, nor love to grief

By the power of hair that reigns my gin. I yearn to see

Good life for each and all, that will have my love as

The story of their lives, future’s vision starving my stare

Hide not behind the gospel of your juju-men, and the

Empty lyrics of time-worn grandmothers. Sweat and labour

Will earn you bread, wistful mythic earns you none, come

Love me as we labour in unit for the shared dream.
My blood reeks not scent of man nor any bi-curious whiff

Perhaps, your brains have given you sensual distortion, I am a girl

And I have a factory for young men to surf, as I go for a walk

But no, I stop, at zero point of harm from biology of my face

To your treasured lives, come we strive and forge ahead,

From the depth of my heart exudes colorless apologies

To the man vilified owl’s generations as bats’ fraternity

Labelled ugly names from all ranges of things unbecoming,

Man called you the first queer in metamorphosis at Lesbos,

Man has too called me queer, when I am only a
confirmation of nature, having been born without
my choice or efforts, My mother and father could not

still choose my gender-type, My mother’s womb

only a conduit to my natural humanity I am what
I am out of nature’s infinite capacity,
My marginalized feelings are not my crafty designs,

I only express what the universe has in the shelves,

Don’t call me queer out of your tendentious label,

I am soft, humble, gentle and polished lesbian,
Unwilling to contravene conventions of superior order,

So your hatred makes me feel right in the wrong body,

Having no machinery to jump out of this entrapment,

Allow me my rights to live full cycle of my challenge,

As nature have answers to your questionable phobia;

Lions, frogs, chimpanzees, lizards and etc……

Report diversity in orientations,
Some bi-gender others cisgender,
As a normal flower is ever bisexual,
So don’t call me queer at all at all
You will only be queering nature
2) Song of White Rhino
The horn on my nose
Hatches me foes from
World of man, yet not
Member of the jungle
Preys on me, hardness
Of my skin a forte enough
All wars I can fight me
This horn on my nose,
But the gun of a poacher
A hole in my rag of shame
Not a derring-do but I need
Not a horn, God take it away
For the sake of my life
Alexander Opicho sent the poems From Narok, Kenya