Village boy Impressions

  The fierce sun is worn out Slouching towards his nest As a sapped child to bed The air is still, in contemplation A calm ambience spreads Over the naked fields and The animal kingdom Breathes a sigh of relief Yet treading sombrely As if afraid to disturb The sleepy giant.   The cows turn towards home Leisurely foraging the sparse Brown grass and shrubs Trodden by their own hoofs. The clear blue sky turns from Yellow to glowing orange As the quietening sun In the hue of a molten ball   Drops quickly into his shell, Burning but no longer scorchy.   Then Suddenly... Blasts of cool air sweeps Over the bare brown fields And the cattle egrets Take to the cooling sky Destined for the other side Where they pass the night On the ancient baobab United in prayer with all For the next drop of rain.   The children, in delight, wave Their hands in song at the sight: “Cattle egret, inscribe my hands for me, Do not let a scorpion sting me And let not the viper bite me All white!" (Goa-naapierik

Photo by  Kid Circus  on  Unsplash RESOLVED, I must up and act Rave against this inaction Why must I rust in waiting? An eternity of rest is coming. How can I be idle?   Strive for what is mine I must For none shall render it to me But I with my calloused hands Grab it in my stride to keep Ever the rapid hours go by Without a pause And with them I must grind Till I’m spent and ragged I cannot quite down, but Like the wind and the tide I too must roar and pound   Asleep, awake, by day or  night   Time speeds by on light wing The tide of destiny swings as ever And around the idle it bends  For with hands is it ever carved How then can I be idle?   It matters not that I fail at it I am but spent upon a worthy cause Not rusted with a vile repose Waiting for naught but the grave Where worms shall feast upon  Flesh and bone long preserved And all chance for action is beyond Recall or desire.   You reap not where you sow not

  First came the pale ants Who gazed in wonder upon the land Stretching to the horizon and beyond, where Man, bird and beast roamed free Each belonging to no one but themselves So they called us headless.  Preposterous! And with one swift stroke of the mighty pen, Our A nnex ation Proclamation was drawn up  With as little ceremony as possible;  "We hereby claim this land for Her Majesty the Queen!" But our fathers fought and bled and won it back Then arose the new masters in our time; Big men, genteel ladies, pot-bellied tycoons,  Chiefs or 'thiefs', we know not, Multinational looters and robbers, and  the political crooks behind them. "The land does not belong to us; We belong to it, It cannot be sold" ! O ur fathers said, Now they grieve  in their graves, while Red signs on whiteboards announce  Our final doom: “Keep off! Private Property,  No Trespassing!”    All over the land, the signs rule. Formidable, Like sentinels keeping their watch.  From the Bla