Oshun: Golden Yellow is Her Flare

©2017 E. R. Smith All Rights Reserved

Yellow for my mother; she wears it in her hair,

wound in lusterus coils

Golden woven silk is draped on cinnamon skin so bare,

and richly oiled

Seated beneath the waterfall legs outstretched on an ancient crocodile,

she teases

Peacock feathered fan in hand she smiles at what she knows, and

 what she pleases

Yellow glows, the buzzing bees, her messengers,

dancing on the sweetest blooms sipping nectar

Amber the honey, an elixir,

taste it first if you respect her

Gold the bangles forged by Ogun,

making music of her hands and feet

Flaxen sails of faithful ships,

 La Caridad blesses her fleet

Give us fresh water, Yalodde Yeyé Kari! Yeyeo! Omoriyeyeo,

that we may be refreshed

Five yellow sunflowers, a pumpkin, a yam,

to repay our debt

Mama Yeye with golden jeweled mirror in hand,

to take in her elegance

Preparing to party, saffron hued perfume sweetens air,

Gatherers praise her eloquence

 Mama Yeye,

Smile on me, send me your gifts, and love

Mother is known for her charity, and defense of us,

from above

 

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