I write to tell of what life has become of me
Life in the city and this white collar job-
Has blotted from my memory
How to plant the seeds in your bed
And clear the beard of weeds that grow on your jaw.
The smell of the city
Has charmed me away from the smell of dung
And the bush air that fills my lung.
Now I adorn my self in suit and tie
Dropping the cutlass for pen and pie.
I remember how once I shook your hand
And beneath that banana tree-
You showed me what it is to be free
How most times I'd cry
And rush to your recluse-when my pocket is dry.
When the sun go down
After being chased out of town,
And the crabs emerge from their holes
Heading towards the tin trap with onions has moles
We'd sit down waiting to take the prey home.
Now I know not what has become of you
Since granny's death and we've dispersed
Just to flourish in other trades-
Following the foot prints in the evening shade
I just want to show how grateful I am
For showing me the other side to life.
So here we are in the city
Getting fed in self pity.
Knowing not how to appease the ground
With seeds of libation-
To come to our aid with multiple germination.
A basket load of pepper now goes for thousands
When there on your chest we could get for free.
Sweet oranges we shared with the birds
In the city we hardly could afford.
What a mockery of ourselves
What a shame for being unable to feed oneself
May be someday I'll turn to your shelf
And pick from it books to feed this nation.