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 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

The sun is shining in all brilliance and delight Doing his very best to spread life and cheer Flamboyant blossoms hasten to welcome him Spilling sweet aromas in their joyous haste The little birds and crickets raise a song And all the crawling creatures beneath Join in the happy  chorus.    Rocks on distant hills Echo the melodious tune The warming air breezes softly Whispering sweet tidings to the world The listening trees and grasses,  tickled in deep places sway in gentle dance, And now the sun itself stands still To take in the sights and the sounds.   Have you read:  Village Boy Impressions - The Joys of Mother Africa   Deep in the lustrous jungle,  the lions roar, the rhinoceros charge, zebras bray and fray, giraffes stretch out long necks, to glimpse the wonder  and the beauty, and laughing rivers run on. Only we, the idle masters, Impervious ingrates Oblivious of the promise and the praise, Drool on in slumber, sadly. Up from your beds Slothful masters! Too long have you lain i

Hurt not the trees! The trees! The trees! Oh hurt not the trees! These majestic giants,  Robed in green glory; Thick as thieves, Meek as mice,  Ancient even as the land.   Silent, calm, dignified. Shedding their incense  upon a neglected realm. Long have they stood,    deep in their root, tall in their reach massive in their girth keeping watch over us; from the blazing sun above,  the blistering earth at our feet, and the carbonic gas in air. Come, let us go on our knees to thank and praise their worth! Oh, what a sight they make; What a view to see; What beauty to admire;  Cheek to cheek,  shoulder to shoulder, with intertwining boughs  muttering their supplications  over this wretched thoroughfare that has received naught but promise upon promise  yet cannot be mended And now to be without them? The first shade of welcome  and the last sigh of goodbye upon this dusty stretch. Is their death the price we must pay, For the promises to be fulfilled? Stop! Listen! Across the land, the h

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

1. Before the rains Burning! Burning!  In still smokeless air,  The land goes up in flames!  Man, bird, beast, and leaf  All stand bowed, brown, and lifeless;  Oppressed by the pitiless sun  Marauding across the naked sky  Shooting fiery darts upon the open fields Like a notorious slave raider.  Men crawl into  kusungta [1]  to muse  Beasts stand motionless beneath ageless trees  And birds quietly nestle in the crowns.  Only bare baobabs and naked compounds  Stand defiant in the fiery scenery  As are the women, indomitable,  Sprinkling ngam [2]  on mud walls  To cure them for  the coming rains Read:  Village Boy Impressions - A Moonlit Night 2. After the early rains Verdant and breathless! All the land is alive and feisty Such a fair sight to behold! All look upon her and wonder. For the land now wears in majesty, The viridescence of the early rains Stretching into the distant horizon. All around, men women and children Are b

Caught by the snow whilst outside; I was elated 1. Falling, falling, falling all around me  Like shredded cotton, the snow falls  And soon, the ground is a white foam I am ecstatic as a child in my first snow  What shall I do with it now I have it?  I scoop it in  both hands and sniff it  I roll it into a ball and kick it  I hug it but it is too cold!  And soon my hands are frigid  But I can’t let go, it’s my first snow! Soon the whole ground was white 2. I want to roll in it and squeal As the pigs do in the mud at home I want to take it home and say, “Look Mma, water from the heavens; Here, the clouds do not rain; They fall down to the ground!” But then how shall I carry it? No, I will describe it to her But what shall I say to describe it? Mma has no word for this alien miracle. No, I will just fill my own curiosity That is enough for Mma. A snowman was built the next morning 3. Now it’s too co