Musing: Longing for thee

My soul longs for thee, dear motherland
To run the dusty red muds
And to swim in the rivers all over you
To climb the trees of your forests
And wallow on the shallow streams
My soul longs to nibble the tender pumpkin seeds
Freshly cut from the farms
To dance with warriors, home with wild beasts
Painted with fearful, scary colors of chalk
My soul longs to belong to this hunting party
Scouting the green forest, sniffing the hare
My soul longs to sit with the elders of the clan
And to hear the wisdom that comes from them
And to eat the round, reddish bitter kolanut
My soul longs to listen to tales from my aunts and granny
From the hamlet’s tale-teller and visiting messengers
My soul longs to see the appearance of the full moon
And as she lights the town center with her brightness

My soul longs for the long quiet, sunny day
In a tranquil hamlet, save from bird calls
And the swooshing of tall trees in the morning wind
With the Harmattan blowing away all my troubles
My soul longs to hear the winds speak
To make rainfall and drive the cattle away
To calm a horse and feed the chicken

My soul longs to see the wild
To ride through the field of Baobabs
And to drink the juice brewed by locals
To travel on a safari to East Africa
And dine with the Masai, to fright the Lions

Learn the Igbo language and culture here.

My soul seeks to love you, my beautiful one
To pick ripe tomatoes from the fields with you
And to hide in fields of corn or wheat
In the morning of a quiet summertime
To dance with you, in the quiet evening
To teach you all that poetry can be
And also to learn about the ants together

My soul longs to hold you tightly, little ones
To see beautiful smiles on your face always
To love you always my motherland
And to reverence His Majesty, Jehovah, my God


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