Lullaby: Decembers’ rain

Fast falls the evening, mild breezes, cold rain, rinsing the dusty roof tops

Dark clouds shadow the moon, the evening is left to wander alone, 

Trees bow to the swift wind; bending, twisting; left and right

But the night was agog with life, the breezes an excuse for heavy sleepers

A week before the heat was sinister, intense but the rain has come

And has come, to usher in the harmattan to the quiet countryside 
Water dripped from tree leaves, the evening kept songs unsung 

Smell of dust cloud the hamlet, the Night herself a little cold

And when the rains came softly, the pattering on the rooftops sang 

Yet crickets quizzed themselves from their hidden citadel

Making this quiet and fine night, Mother Natures own lullaby

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The path to Harvest

Joy is the fruit blossomed in the heart of the farmer

His smiles are meshed with the days toil and sweat

Patches of brown earth possess a part of his tired face

On his shoulders he carries a huge basket with some tools
And now it is harvest time…  

Now the fields are ripe, the mangoes are heavy with fruits

Birds sing from the tree tops, monkeys dance to their muse

Below the evergreen forest, the farmers find their way

Pathing thru thick mist and grass, old animal dung and dew
The morning was cool, once the path reached the stream side

The farmers stooped to have a handful taste of the waters

The taste is clayey, the scent like a patch of dust with water

The path lead the farmers into the deeper forests now 

The shrubs become scanty, the trees more numerous

And all about dew sail off tree leaves, bouncing into balls

Thriving bird colonies, Natures own secret fine hive

The bamboo forest stood close by, taunting the farmers as they went

Waterfalls let water drops fall and bounce off rocks

Once they arrived the plantation, the work began

And with it, went with countryside music-

And when they sang, they sang of places, far far away

Where the wheat fields are yellow, the cow milk tasteful

They whistle songs and hum when they were tired of songs

At last, the harvest became a pile waiting to go home

My muse: Rejoice

My heart rejoices, but why I can not say! 

The sun has risen, the land is golden

The firmaments are bright, blue and grey

Dews melt, trees dance, flowers open
I rejoice for the lights which has come

For the love which I see all about me

For the little fine hamlet I call home

I rejoice for her numerous diversity
So today I dance to the rhythms in my head

In my absent privacy, I admire my hip hop

Desiring nothing but this feeling of good

Deep down me I change my dance steps
So today, I amuse myself with myself

I laugh at my stupidity and my bravery

I teach my wild spirit how to be herself

And teach my hands to tend to poetry

A muse: God’s Love

Songs of the night, sweet lullabies for the days toil

Messages from Heaven, refined touch of God’s goodness

Whistling from the neighboring pines and wide eyed owls

All call out to the quiet night, strange, quietly hopeful
Dreams are cut out on plates of wet marble

Left to dry out in the open sun, like some fairytale

Hopes of happy ever after, thoughts of great deeds

One bonded from Nature and love of God

Tudun Amba, Lafia

1

Sprawled across a fertile land,

On a hill overlooking a quiet river

Where the rains come once in a while

And when it does, it is a fine luxury

Trees stand, here and there

Occurring once upon a place

Grasses are seldom seen, the sand most often

The palmwine* taste absolutely sweet

But in the mug we see dead drunk bees

2

The skies are blue; original, authentic

The river, flooded with the big rains

Quiet are the calm nights, cold mostly

But the early morning belongs to the sun

The people like everyone else, smileful 

3

In the mornings, the children play on the sand

When there was no chores, or when all was boring

The noon; lazy, the sun bake away, tanning everyone

In the heat, everyone seek out a shed, a citadel

The evenings are mild, sometimes unnecessarily hot

Then scorpions will find their way out for some air

In the nights the dogs bark to disturb the peace

Making all wonder what they might have seen

And when these all merge, they produce a small village

One placed somewhere, where the moon shine bright

And the sun a steady member of the community!

Note: Tudun Amba is a suburb of the capital city of Lafia, Nasarawa state. I am currently residing in this ancient city of Northern Nigeria. The North of Nigeria is somewhat hotter than the South.

Palmwine: a tasty white African wine tapped from the Raffia palm and other special palm trees, consumed as a beverage or as alcohol when fermented. 

Tree Leaves Falling

Now the tree leaves fall before us, dancing with the wind they somersault
Time flies, memories fade, goodness lives and the day goes spent

The tree leaves fall beside us, with the wind she danced, possessed, carefree
While her brethren watched her swirl about, with the flirty wind on the tree

The tree house the grey squirrels whose work is to chew the tree fruits
Up the branches so high, they made their citadel, their home, a fort

The tarred pathway is full of tree leaves, close movement throw them dancing up and down
And when there is peace, they lay quiet and once more there is tranquility on the lawn

The flirty wind blows about, the fallen leaves she mildly hunt
Meanwhile the sun shine brightly while the tree leaves fall quietly

Musing: Candle Light

Night falls
Sleep calls

My candle light dance, hovering madly before me
Careless of its nakedness, careless of her waywardness
Yet there was very little wind here, rather a swift breeze
Coming now and then, but the candle light danced

The corner of the room stood, darkened behind me
My silhouette forming a union with the dark
And the night one of quiet loneliness, resourcefulness

Now the pen dance with the wind and candle light
The papers are bleeding with ink, fine and some obscure
Underwhelmed with the burden of a switching breeze
And the candle light which knew little but dance…

And so on… So the night is quiet but the pen aint!