If you see the babuas
With hips wide as harvest moons,
Do not frown.
Do not mistake their burden
For disease or disgrace—
They are only bending
To the hunger coiled in their bones.
Should you glimpse the babuas
Crowned with storms of unkempt hair,
Do not call them beasts.
They are only tuned
To the thunder grumbling through their bellies.
If you meet the babuas
Cloaked in patchwork skies—
Mimicking the chameleon’s vow—
Do not laugh.
Do not name them mad.
They are only stitching their scars
Into sails to catch the wind’s cold coin.
If you watch the babuas
Twist like fire through the marketplace,
Do not ask why they dance
With such fever in their feet.
They are only stoking
The furnace behind their ribs.
For we are all babuas:
Hips swaying beneath the weight of want,
Hair wild with unspoken storms,
Bodies wrapped in borrowed colors,
Dancing—always dancing—
To the rhythm of a world
That feeds on our hunger.
© Lanre Adebayo
May 16
May 16, 2026 at 3:05 PM UTC
If you see the babuas
With hips wide as harvest moons,
Do not frown.
Do not mistake their burden
For disease or disgrace—
They are only bending
To the hunger coiled in their bones.
Should you glimpse the babuas
Crowned with storms of unkempt hair,
Do not call them beasts.
They are only tuned
To the thunder grumbling through their bellies.
If you meet the babuas
Cloaked in patchwork skies—
Mimicking the chameleon’s vow—
Do not laugh.
Do not name them mad.
They are only stitching their scars
Into sails to catch the wind’s cold coin.
If you watch the babuas
Twist like fire through the marketplace,
Do not ask why they dance
With such fever in their feet.
They are only stoking
The furnace behind their ribs.
For we are all babuas:
Hips swaying beneath the weight of want,
Hair wild with unspoken storms,
Bodies wrapped in borrowed colors,
Dancing—always dancing—
To the rhythm of a world
That feeds on our hunger.
© Lanre Adebayo
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