To the Lizard: An Ode
In the shade of the tall tree in flower
Round and round the trunk, up and down
A she-lizard dances with her mate.
My heart rolled back the years
Till I stood by the crags in childhood
Wide-eyed with a taut catapult in hand
A roughly round pebble held ready to fly
As we circled the rocks in the noon sun.
Swift,
spirited and agile
Just
as good at swerving as
Breaking
suddenly in flight.
Quite a wonder and a challenge to us.
But
so also were we, the little cats
Nimble
of foot and deft with our shots.
Driven
by our little rumbling tummies;
The constant nagging companions of our boyhood.
Our favourite was always the landlord
Blue-grey body, and yellow tail
Red or orange head, so cocky
Mocking us from your
elevated post
On the crags, roofs, high
walls or tree branches,
Defying our flying stones and curses.
Our pride is evident in the exultant shout
When a shot finds its mark
And he comes crashing
from his perch!
But it was really his nourishing effect
Little thought of by any
but us
That made us so gleeful
and smug.
For when hunger called as
it did often
And mother had no
answer
Agama Lizard was always an adequate
And timely response.
For a glimpse of other childhood endeavours, click here
About the house, the crags, and the ruins
The neem, the thorn, the baobab,
And just about any tree or shrubbery.
When we had slain a
good number,
We turned to the huge
tamarind tree.
There to cook him in
tin cans or
Roast on fiery coal
fires and
Spice with salts and peppers.
Read: Village Boy Impressions - Gleaning Groundnuts
In a near-distant future to come,
if God permits
When old age has crept
upon this generation,
I should recall our times together
Whilst reclining upon my dampala at even
My heart then shall glow
with pleasure and
My wrinkled cheeks shall
light up
And many shall look
thereon and wonder
Only I shall know in my heart
The secret for that spot
of joy.
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Agandin, I love your poetry very much. I can feel the energy in each word and the images they conjure up in my mind speak to me directly, and I think they do to every Buloa who knows life in our tradtional cultural setting, in the village.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for reading elder brother. Knowing your own writing prowess, it means a lot more. Thank you!
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