IN MY VILLAGE

 





Have you seen the wreathed baskets

That our mothers use to bear corns?

Come with your hope and dreams

To behold the treasure of my village.


There are nest for the singing birds

To sleep on the roof of our huts—

Where the noiseless noise of our mothers

Lull us into the dreamy space

There was wandering in our bright eyes—

We hunt when the forest heaves

And crept through the bushes at night.

We were curious of the woodlands,

And light-hearted as we were,

We found pleasures in all the things

In the nooks and crannies of the forest—

The stream ripples her distaste

But we paid her no mind,

As we dance in her shallow waters,

And in the silence of the glade,

We scaled the low-hung branches

To pluck ripe grapes,

Jumping like monkeys in our innocence.


Have you heard the songs of birds

That flies over the fields of heaven?

Come with your hope and dreams

To behold the treasure of my village.


© Okunola Peace.

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