on land clashes

On land clashes

Last afternoon I sang a song
that welled up tears
for the land I love
I sang of a land
clad in a fresh frock
matching lawns
green like virgin grass
clean, peaceful, loveable
rising steady from the dry plains
of colonialism.

but my land was behaving strangely
in this dream
its warriors looked agitated
they were menacing
chanting war cries
challenging
charging
crying war
ready for bloody combat
with their own people
still I sang on


Still I sang on,
my song blending melodiously
with the joyful cry of birds
and chirrup of crickets
drowning the breezing
of the slow-ripening corns
and the hush moans
of hungry, hopeful lovers
locked in embrace.

I sang of lush, pretty valleys
As my feet glided over
deathly swamps of slime
I sang of the silent sighs
of the morning sea
shly reflecting
the piercing rays
of the morning sun.

My song flew over
the blue shoulders
of the hills
that suppressed
before the malevolent waves
heated up the noon.

The storm approached
as my voice broke
But I sang on into puberty
I sang of the vast waters
ferrying steaming steamers
and scheming schemers
beyond the once comely hills
to the port that roasts our savings
taking our grains for a lump of salt

The storm roared on
a howling wind, a moaning sound
over the beautiful hills and valleys
My song was cut short
by pitiful cries of fleeing voices
by the wailing of dying childen
and the sight of bones on hacked flesh.

The sound gunfire and sword lashes
cut the peaceful valleys
some called them land clashes
Such gory deaths they were

Such was my song,
My song of home
and all in it
that should have been
and never was
My song of hope


This home
is where I belong
but now, nothing
nothing
belongs to me.

Not even the charred village paths
not even the burnt huts
and smelly carcasses
not even the uniformed men
who parade by the dais.
will grass grow
again?

otienoamisi