Village boy Impressions

Take a walk in the Savannah, Listen to the song of birds and trees, See the wonders of the land: The harmony of rocks, and grass,  And the awe of ants and anthills. Feast your eyes on  castles of clay Built with patient labour and craft Plastered by seasonal rainstorms, Baked to artistic perfection By daily scorching suns, and Frequent blazing bushfires.   Inspiring folk are the Savannah ants Going up and down all day In silent, profound labour Tunnelling, firming, raising walls Until the fort stands majestic. Even when we cut it down, As we are wont to do  They build it right back up Without a sound of protest or grumble   Go to the ant, you sluggard! Learn the dignity of labour, See the marvels wrought by Little hands and little heads. Stand in awe of Savannah anthills. Listen to the sermonizing of ants; "Turn your hands from idleness and bloodshed, Your heads from evil machinations and mischief, And your mouths from idle chatter a

The day was damp and raw     And I was down in the doldrums But o n the sagging powerlines  Just outside my window I found two little birds in intimate talk As they spruce their feathers away With cute little beaks that tweet! They sat right next to each other With their little feet about the copper wire Quite immune to the power coursing within Chatting forever about heaven knows what. I wished I could understand their hearty talk So simple, so intimate, so beautiful! No Facebook walls, no Messengers, No WhatsApp, no Snapchat and emojis No Instagram and finger Twitter-ring No posts, no comments, and no tagging Just good old plain talk, eyeball to eyeball With little chance of misunderstanding And no thoughtless forwarding of garbage I sighed in envy of them and smiled… Suddenly the gloomy clouds parted  And the sun shone brighter than before. So my day was saved.

Today I glanced through my window  Silent and absentmindedly. All looked dull and familiar There, the verdurous crowns of many trees Here, the multi-coloured roofs of many homes And white idle clouds hanging lazily. So it was yesterday and the day before I have seen it all before. But did I? I queried. Blinking at the unsettling thought For I have never really looked At the sylvan glade outside my window Though I see it every day. Read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Seasons at Home So then, I stood to stare; At the deep, verdant green of the trees All lusty and still in the smokeless air. And yet, and yet, some are in flower! A thousand red and yellow blossoms On three trees just outside my window, Glittering in the early bright sunlight. At this profound beauty, I gazed and gazed! In awe of their contentment and flourish. A warm glow stole over my heavy heart And the weight of the coming day Was made lighter and easier at t

The baobab tree stands bare in the dry season On an hallowed spot at home, Stands a tall, mighty baobab.  Steeped in myth and legend  A massive and hefty girth  Thick, wide and stout arms.  Bare in the rainless moons  And green cloaked with the showers.  From every house, it calls;  Girls and boys, men and women The old and the young,  The nimble and the slow,  Birds, bees, beasts, and bats.  To all and sundry it welcomes  With food, sweetness, and shelter.  In its arms; shrouded or naked,  Or under its shaded bare ground,  We play, we laugh, we rest, we court. Read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Seasons at Home In the rainy season, the baobab tree is usually cloaked green  For the fresh nourishing leaves Our mothers fight the caterpillars. And for the lip-smacking nectar, We wrestle with the bees at dawn. Fearing neither their ominous hum, Nor the eventual virulent sting. Devouring the budding flowers, Into tummies that

Not for death! Not for death!  But for life among the deathless  In ageless, changeless, greener lands Where no stain nor tear can abide Therefrom your labour, you rest,  Robed in glory.  But on this hallowed spot of Balansa,  Lies your mortal remains;  Agandin, son of Adaayomah,  Loving father and devoted husband.  In that hour set with your maker,  But unbeknownst to us mortal men,  You made your bow in peace and quiet. Read Here:  Village Boy Impressions - Father's Epitaph You were the fountain of life  The light of hope The captain in life’s ocean,  My biggest fan and coach.  Under your watchful, caring gaze I raced with the swift Your words of caution  Lending motion to my little feet. But in my innocence,  I forgot you were my force of gravity.  You ceased whilst I was in mid-race Now I have to lift my own foot And bring it down! Alas for me! The blazing sun did set at noon! The eagles stopped in mid-flight The birds quieted in mid-song Even the c