A Letter To My Farm

Dear farm, 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. Dear farmland 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.