Poetry is what we eat
MY COUNTRY HOME
My country home is an exquisite banquet room
Calmly – it sleeps, beneath the eye of our celestial keepers
Sewn in the apparel of the red hills
A cornucopia -
Of the most sumptuous delicacies sprawling the nooks
Essence-scenting servings hanging from nature's treasure trove
Eat thereof, Grow.
My country home is a great farmstead
An assortment of yield vast as the streams therein
Its mountain-high heads of cereals,
Robust as the mighty tubers sprout,
Spewing rich harvests of cultural staples,
Daubed across the face of the rift valley,
We drink of its elixir of wisdom flow.
My country home is the theatre room of the human race
Interminable baby-booming seasons,
Bellies round with a pot-pourri of local dishes,
Blooming native herbs -
Each potent, like juju wrapped in baubles dripping from rooftops
Against lurking evil spirits,
We dance and feast till morning crow.
My country home is an exquisite banquet room
Calmly – it sleeps, beneath the eye of our celestial keepers
Sewn in the apparel of the red hills
A cornucopia -
Of the most sumptuous delicacies sprawling the nooks
Essence-scenting servings hanging from nature's treasure trove
Eat thereof, Grow.
My country home is a great farmstead
An assortment of yield vast as the streams therein
Its mountain-high heads of cereals,
Robust as the mighty tubers sprout,
Spewing rich harvests of cultural staples,
Daubed across the face of the rift valley,
We drink of its elixir of wisdom flow.
My country home is the theatre room of the human race
Interminable baby-booming seasons,
Bellies round with a pot-pourri of local dishes,
Blooming native herbs -
Each potent, like juju wrapped in baubles dripping from rooftops
Against lurking evil spirits,
We dance and feast till morning crow.
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