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Heart, born Keotshephile Motseonageng, electrified the Maun Lodge auditorium early this year with her passionate public marriage proposal to Khama.
Heart wore a seductive red bikini outfit when she performed, setting the stage ablaze with the suggestive swaying of her hips and declaring her burning sexual desire for the Botswana head of state.
In her poem, titled “I have a Crush on Ian Khama,” the Gabon-based artist made love to a big screen image of Ian Khama, shaking her rear seductively to the lifeless projected image of Khama behind her as she chronicled her undying love and desire she had since childhood for the Botswana president. She went on to wish that Khama would be the one to set her free from the torment of unreciprocated love.
“My beloved Ian, I fantasized you caressing my most erogenous zones, sending electrical impulses to my bones, as you rub your moustache against the nape of my neck,” confessed Heart during the recital.
In her passionate plea, the daring poet unashamedly declared what she would like to do with Khama between the sheets.
“Between the sheets there is no sir nor madam, no president nor poet. I’ll hypnotize you with the magic of my phenomenal hips, lips locked, bodies close, thrust after thrust; my iron gates of life creamier than cremora; better and sweeter, hearts beat faster. Pleasure you cannot measure,” she recited.
The Maun Lodge auditorium, where the 24-year-old poetess belted out her recital, was filled to capacity with literary experts, art lovers and prominent local and international musicians. Oblivious to the mixed reactions her remarks were drawing from the large crowd, Heart continued to enjoy the cheers and jeers before the audience fell silent as a result of her sheer bravery.
Some of those who attended had an issue with her choice of attire. Salano Satembu, a 35-year-old Maun teacher, said Heart’s attire was inappropriate and bordered on being pornographic.
“I attended the show to listen to poetry and not to be subjected to overexposed flesh,” stated an irritated Salano. “At one stage I felt I was in a striptease show, which I found offensive.”
But there were those who defended the artist’s bravery and choice of wardrobe.
Accomplished poet and author Barolong Seboni, a lecturer at the University of Botswana, praised Heart for complementing her message with her attire. “She did show creativity and her attire was in line with art. I didn’t have a problem with that,” said Seboni.
Seboni went on to blame the media for misreporting that the artist was topless. “Women should be allowed to express how they feel about their bodies, especially artists,” he said in Heart’s defense.
Her defenders, however, admitted that the seductive dance and the exposed flesh was distracting and detracted from the art and caused them to lose focus of the message.
Since the performance, Botswana’s office of the president has kept mum about Heart’s proposition to the president. Jeff Ramsey, a spokesman for the Botswana government, is said to have brushed off journalists with “no comment.”
At first when all my dreams flowed tallow melting to the streams so shallow my ardent thirst was curious
my tongue then made shallow whimpering lies along the stream sand where all my wave-borne bubbles burst.
For centuries memories imprisoned my dark passionate side that lies deep,
deep in every atom of my being
Afraid of being sent to the penitentiary,
I dwell in misery of how about Ian Khama I’m feeling
What hurts me most is…
those I share my feeling with have no purpose, dealing with feelings is hard
What hurts me most is…
Although I am a moving dictionary; there is no word in my vocabulary
that can express how i feel about this man.
Years return me gradually to afflictions and shames of childhood,
it is curiosity of existence…
Since childhood, I’ve always had a crush on Ian Khama and I’m ashamed of it
My beloved Ian Khama I fantasized…
You caressing my most erogenous zones; sending electrical impulses to my bones
as you rub your moustache against the nape of my neck; As your fingers sail through my back
Giving me the attention span to meditate; Liberating a part of I imprisoned by fate
The concurrence of our lips… ; Like an annual equinox
Your hands artfully spooning the brackets of my phenomenal hips
Making me convinced that I’m indeed an example of God’s handiwork
That night when our love spread out against the moon(x2)
That night who made love but we?
Memories carry me backwards on journeys of disintegration
especially journeys of loneliness
Pardon my obsequious manners,
I’m just a genius of pun done having fun under the sun
while Berry Heart poetry is shifting paradigms and cleansing imperialized minds of different kinds
raised to heavenly heights by the smiling sub-Saharan sun
Berry Heart 1=1 Berry Heart divided by 2 his mission is done
then his skinny ladies are none
girls with legs like slender pillars of a Tswana house in Kalahari
girls as thin as a sharpened edge of a blade
I and he will walk like a set of twins, like a set of twins, like a set of twins.
Despite the fact that I don’t fit in a pair of size zero jeans I’m a very good lover and Ian Khama deserves my love.
Love has nothing to do with weight.
Then we would kiss like snails trapped in an hourglass
Because may be, just maybe he thinks no Motswana woman is his match, and that’s the catch, does it matter?
Between the sheets there is no Sir nor Madam, No president nor poet.
I’ll hypnotize you with the magic of my phenomenal hips, lips locked, bodies close, thrust after thrust; my iron gates of
life creamer than cremora; better and sweeter, hearts beat faster
Pleasure you cannot measure
Getting answers to unproven theories and fairy tales
Your 5DS will change to ’Daily, Darling, my Dove you Determine my Destiny’
Words 574(excluding poem)
By Halima Salat