CanvHERs

In His splendour
He took light, calling it DAY
Separating darkness from it
Calling it night

He took clay, mould it
Breath in to it
Calling him, MAN

He made birds sing
That beautiful song
That him to sleep

He took his rib
From which He made a similar
Calling her, WOMAN

He had the oceans and seas
In applaud, declare her beauty
Unto all eternity

He took His time
To sculpt her
Leaving no contour undone

Ensured her eyes
Had that sparkle
The heavens cannot compare

 Her lips had
In every thought
That soft, supple feel

Her nose, just right
Not too big
Not too small

Ensured her scent
Would shy away
The sweetest scented rose

Ensured that her beauty
Would devalue those
Of diamonds and pearls

He took time
Time to instil in her
A heart: That understands
That weighs
That appreciates
Even the minute
A heart that, above all
Loves unconditionally

He ensured that
Anything that speaks
Of her at less is a non-entity

In His splendour
Opened man to see
And in covenant, decree

She is WOMAN!
Bone of my bone
Flesh of my flesh

Canvas too

My heart at this thought

Sets the stage for a different show

The setting, not of glamour nor glitter

Not of red carpets, action and no cameras

This is of the simple, vast plains

Under the clear, night skies

Filled with nothing but the flashes of

Non weary, interval limited, starry lights

The winds make their debut

And the shrubs, bushes and trees 

In submission join in

Their leaves rub against each other

The crickets step up with the clap clap of their wings

It's not noise, no, it's harmony in nature

As the hornbill join in the melody

The heat from the savannah fire

Warms up the, lizard skin, isikuti

As the crackles from the blaze

Inspire the air

One by one the musicians 

Select their choice instrument

The unique, deep and high toned checks

Resonate in every heart

Bare chested, monkey skin laced loins

Chiselled physiques from the land they toil

Moon to moon has every contour been earned

The rhythm starts to fill the air

And the vibration of every muscle

As the drummer technically slaps his drum

The powerful lungs blow the bulls' horn

With every intentional, calculated feet stamping

The shakers tied around the ankles

The orchestral frolic is captured

By the fire flies flashes

Likened to the Grammies 

Can only be in the African savannah

It can only be my state

When am with my mama Africa