-


Dear virgin land

Dear virgin land, you who has never been cultivated, pray hard that the metallic hoe does not land on your crispy soil. Wish not that the coarse hands of the industrious farmer lands on your virgin lands, for in you he will plan seeds of discord and seeds of praise. The farmer will take care of you just so you take care of him. The day that hoe lands on you is the day you lose your free will and become a slave. Pray that he doesn’t come with his chain-saw to cut off your trees, or with pickets to dig out your established roots. No matter how well the prospects of patches corn and acres of wheat may excite you, do not let him get to the heart of your existence. He will only quit the day you can no longer churn out produce like you did before. He will turn you into a wasteland after milking your bowels dry then you will realize your pride has gone with the wind. You will stand naked for all to see many seasons later and jealousy will fill your heart when you see others blooming but you are just there, dejected, abused and trodden upon. Weeds will grow all over your proud head, illegitimate children, and you will hate everything you are. Your dreams and aspiration will become the source of your nightmares and midnight curses. When the farmer leaves you will find no reason to live again and year after year you will pray for his return, beg him when he passes by and even try to show him you are better but he does know, after all he is the one who robbed you of your virginity. Dear virgin land, hold fast to your pride. Smile when the winds rustle your leaves and weep when lightning strikes a branch off you tree. Give the insects a chance to multiply and the vines an opportunity to taste the sun. Try not to think about the pot-bellied man with rubber boots and the glimmer in his eyes when he looks at what you have brought forth. Let him see your pride and resilience then maybe he will let you hold on a little longer. Maybe he will give you the right and the freedom you need to expand and grow your own way, but let not greed and envy get a hold of you for it is then that you will move from grass to grace, for envy is a poison that spreads yellow in green flowers and purple in yellow fruits and that, dear virgin land is what the farmer cannot stand.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

-
If we must die If we must die, let it not be like cows in the slaughter, walking willingly into the bloodbaths, too meek to resist and too trusting to argue. Let us die like buffaloes in a lion chase or ants in a midday march. Let us die like termites in search of freedom in a hostile world. If we must die, let it not be like birds caught in storm or a deer by a hunter’s spear. Let it not be like foxes caught in traps or flies landing on fire. If we must die, let our death not be told to those with faint hearts and loud wails. Let it not be known by those women who know not to keep their mouth shut. Let it not be told to those frail and on the brink lest they tilt over. If we must die, let the news be hushed and kept silent. Let everyone be told that we refused to be vanquished, that the flame refused to be extinguished. Let them be told that it is not graves but a mound full of seeds and flowers. Lord, if we must die, let us waft out into your presence like sacred incense. Send a ch
Read more
-
Where did you go? I am a walking carcass hoping for a wind strong enough to carry me away, a rain harsh enough to dissolve me into a lump of soil. If I could erase all these memories and go back to the days before I met you, I would. But how sad that I roll in torture during the night and burn during the day. Tell me, old friend, you who made me feel special and important, where did the wind take you? Should I cry for time that conspired against us or should I let you shoulder the burden? I have been reduced into a mess of tears and regret. I have lost my trust and my confidence, come to me, you who gave me strength and take me with you. Tell me I was dreaming and tuck me back to sleep. Smother me with the pillow so I will not wake from this, for what is life, when she that I adored and loved in equal measure walked out on me? Look at me now as I wade knee deep in mud and slime, look at me as I stretch my hands to take you back but oh how far away you are. Come messiah, before
Read more
-
Blandness Many times you have let it be, that anger has blinded your eyes and ire has taken over your life. You have embraced sorrow for so long, and you have stayed too long in your bed of grief, that you remember no more what it feels to be happy. You have ceased to live, and life has long left you. You were a bee, but you have long convinced yourself that you are a fly. Oh son, you have allowed death to rule your soul. You have allowed darkness to carry a sceptre, and declare itself king in the kingdom of your being. You have been chained to a post, by an imaginary rope, and you have been held back by your own fear, like a dog without a chain, but still lies around the chaining post. You have closed the doors and the windows and allowed the smoke to sail into your heart. You have broken all the mirrors because when you look at them you see not the scar on your face but that in your heart, but oh, they do not lie. Count not the graveyards lest they sprout outside in your yard. Do no
Read more