Let Us Praise The Poise Of Eve Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

Allow me to praise a woman who can mislead a man,
A woman who listens to a snake and not run for her life,
Deserves the praise we give her, for being the victim of tempters.
She relates stories heard like a real gossip in the garden tabloids.
And feeds her family all that she eats even if it is venom,
She ate first, like I would have tasted the soup in the pot,
Before feeding it to the nation I lead into paths hidden.

Let us watch the story of Eve happening in the pages,
For she stood and did not run, as she does in my mind now.
For she knew when it was time to innovate and design a dress,
Not for being wrong do I praise her, but for trying,
Initiative they call it when you take the first step,
Even if you get burnt and no body says sorry.

She lives in this story undefeated, though wrong,
Created in the bosom of time the story tells us things,
That designers do not have to be no Calvin Klein,
But when necessity calls man and wife make something.
Do not let the world be shocked by your bare bottoms,
Rather a pair of pants with a patch than bums in the air.

Let me say the story is no story, when it leaves me and you,
Unchanged and still doing the same old thing called laziness,
Where we think on our bottoms and then sit on our heads,
For life never carries those who wring confusion out of time,
And then drink it and call it the sap of life,
For it burns the throat like real coal with coke in it,
Right there in the furnace, where the stories say we will end up.

Let me praise the work of Eve, for begetting me and you,
And letting us wobble one step at a time, reaching for life,
Our hands outstretched and ready for touching the table,
Only to be told to swallow, what she has put on the spoon,
That she has pointed at our mouths where our lips drip,
For the very stew life cooked in Eden.

Who said Eve was no cordon bleu chef when my own mother was?
She had a real oven where she cooked me ripe and ready,
For this furnace called the earth where debts burn
Real holes into my pockets and leave me sighing.
She had real taps that poured out life thatraised
me into the blossom that was kissed by the first rains
that I became, for my eyes still have the raindrops.
She had oven lights that shone in the night and made
Her see when the cake was ready and cracking on top.

Let us praise the poise of Eve, for she walked away
From a garden guarded by sword-wielding angels,
And never returned from the place where she would
Sin no more for the snake was now on its stomach,
Huffing and puffing ready to do damage to her heels,
I know it never found her for me and you are here,
And honest Adam can swear this story is true.