Here she walks in the shade of solitary hills <br />Hair swaying, skin browned, cotton shirt upon her back <br />And sandals open to the dust, the camera hangs from her neck <br />And nestles on her breast. She frames <br />The silent frontier town that lies before her <br />With the living shutters of her eyes. <br /> <br />The crowds in the oasis know the name she's taken. <br />As one woman, child and man, they name her in their tongue <br />And with their gaze demand of her and whisper for each other <br />The reason for her smile, the playtime of her eyes - <br />A distant lover, transported? Or a letter <br />Delivered by mysterious means, unseen hands? <br /> <br />For she is smiling in the solid arms <br />Of her freedom at each step increasing. No man <br />Can raise his hand against her, not in rage <br />Nor with premeditation. No father now <br />Can make a servitude for her, no mother <br />Can turn away her face and and close her heart. <br /> <br />The sun freckles her arms and when it rains <br />The drops beat languidly upon her roof. <br />The watchman fans the embers of his jiko <br />To warn the jealous spouse beyond the gates. <br />The parokeet has learned to serenade the sunrise <br />And squarks the phraseology of love. <br />Witless or wise as she may be, the bird talks for me. <br /> <br />Like a young child, ready to show her kindest faces, <br />The future stands at the corner of the dawn <br />To beckon her to many of these pathways <br />To make each day more precious than the rain.<br /><br />Frank Bana<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/here-she-walks/
