Lines Composed in Rainy Season
They call her North who
know her not
or prefer the bliss of
their own ignorance.
Not I, and a million
assorted voices
Speaking a thousand
tongues of men
Whom she nurses in her fertile
valleys
And dandle on her rolling
grassy plains
We call her, home...
Land of many colours and contrasts;
A vast desert of dusty brown in off-season;
Battered black and broken with wind and fire.
But wait the rains in their time,
And yonder before us lie verdant valleys
An endless stretch of wood and grassland,
Amid which countless streams run,
Sparkling in the sweet morning air!
In cultivated fields, women and men, daily
Rejoice in the dignity of their labours,
Children hop and play around every homestead,
With unfeigned childhood delight and innocence.
Herds of lumbering cattle graze across lush plains
And what a delight to the eye to behold
Every flower and blade of grass with pleasure,
The warmth of the breeze heals my heart,
The fragrance of budding flowers stirs me,
The blended notes of birds and insects,
Refreshes and cheers my drooping soul,
I am enthused by the very mud I trod
And the sight of fields in bloom
Sends the blood to warm my cheeks.
When in sweet contemplative solitude
I muse upon this blessing
so bestowed
And think how all this will soon be charred
By the wildfires of her obstinate sons
Then does the blood boil
in my breast
And the fumes rise to choke me.
So I do hurry from my burrow
To behold her face in fair season
Ere the sight is taken from me.
Other Poems Celebrating the North of Ghana
Halting Words for Nab Ayieta Azantilow I
Feok - the Hallowed Festival of the Bulsa
Vivid imagery. I can see the land in my mind's eye, and it's as beautiful as captured here. I can hear the humming birds too. Sweet home sweet!
ReplyDeleteA very good composition. Thank you for sharing
ReplyDelete