by Messan Foley
Where have they all gone?
Those mouths and talking tam-tams
That once announced in rhythm
A visit or the return of the prodigal son.
Where have they all gone?
Those male harsh and bare feet
That in succession grew the fertile soil
With dripping sweat from the baking sun.
Where have they all gone?
Those females and their calabashes
That inherited fetched from the well
And fried plantain in the cooking huts.
Where have they all gone?
Our corn and cassava fields
The goats, the chickens and the sheep
That daily fed us children and the oldies.
Lost here between the silent welcoming voices
And the inquisitive look of the thirsty old trees
How to relinquish the memories
Of the immortal souls of my old village?
Deserted by time
© Copyright: Лика Гай, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №212051100641
Свидетельство о публикации №212051100641
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