A Song for the Naive

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.

 

 

 

 

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