by
Noel Ihebuzor
I will laugh with the greenness
of young blades of corn
thrusting forward, green and bold
in a land where virgins are
two for a grand
and impotent randy men
roam wide spaces
in quest of unstable risings
Do you hear the whispers
of the blade of corn,
young and talkative
as it sways to share its secrets?
and sell its prophecy?
The secrets of the farm,
its short tales, of staggered truths,
tales of men with huge trumpets,
elepant egos and stiff backs
tales of the empty baba rigas
are not told on market days,
nor on farm days
songs of noisy plantings
the flapping and chatter of leaves, empty
but full of naivety,
an empty harvest follows
and the once wet song
soon turns dry, wilts and withers
leaves, once green,
now brown, twisted dry,
now cry.
Reflections 