Village boy Impressions

What a fine thing it is to travel by bus, to see through the window, a country in passing. Even if all you see is a vast, unbroken land, burnt black by bushfires . It is strangely delightful or perhaps delightfully depressing, to see trees, stunted by the fires, rushing past. But the bus slows. A police barrier. An officer walks to the driver’s window. Money changes hands. He smiles and waves us on. A private driver refuses to pay. He is directed to park at the roadside. Here is a sprawling town. Business is booming—or so it seems. Everyone is busy, sweating in the noon sun. And the filth threatens to swallow them. Whoever invented polythene bags and “pure water” must be smiling. What a beautiful eyesore we have made of our villages. I only cry for the villages, as for the towns and cities, From where I am coming to where I am going Plastic waste has taken over our neighbourhoods, threatens our homes, our lives and our sanity! Everything comes wrapped in a black plastic bag Even a s...

Common Sense is Dead! Today we mourn the passing of an old friend and mother, Common Sense, who has been our teacher and caretaker for many years. For years we had heard of the deaths of her namesakes in Europe and North America but we did not realise that the end of our own beloved Common Sense was near. Like her namesakes who passed before her, no one knows for sure how old she was, since her birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. Affectionately known to many as Sound Thinking, Good Faith, Rational Thought,  and  Moral Fortitude,  she selflessly devoted herself to a life of service in homes, schools, hospitals and offices, helping folks get jobs done without fuss, fanfare, or drama. But alas! Never again will logic and good conscience grace our presence. She was a most loving mother, and will be remembered as having taught us such valuable lessons as: Knowing when to come in out of the rain, The early bird gets the worm,  Lif...

I do my crying in the rain Shrieking with the thunder Howling with the wind So that my tears are washed away My sorrow is laid to rest awhile And peace returns to my heart But when the clouds are spent I wear a smile and walk around No one sees the tears in my eyes No one hears the pain in my voice No one marks the grief on my face No one knows the pain in my heart For I weep with the clouds And my healing is in the rain That washes and dries my tears With a million wet kisses I do my crying in the rain Not because I am strong But because I am alone Many weep on my shoulder I find no shoulder to weep on So I feign strength And wait for cloudy skies To pour out my grief in full He is strong, he is solid He can take it all, they say And know not that I am weak And poor and frail even as they But maybe not for I do not cry No, not open bitter tears as they Yet I too do cry I do my crying in the rain.

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 s...