Africa art Igbo culture Isuikwuato nature poems night poems

Poem: The Brook

Pollution to the Human Mind

I do think that living in large towns for a long time can constitute pollution to the simple human mind. Each time I return to the countryside, I feel a mix of vibrant and enthusiastic energy. Living in dry cities drains me fast. I could try to live in one that has a lot of green parks. I can’t find the exact words to describe this feeling. Smoke, noise, and diseases are some of the agents of human mind pollution. The countryside is livable and better off by far.

On the piece below, the original work was written in 2015 when I combined both my writing career and academic work. This is a revised version of it. Early this year, I captured a short video showing the chalky waters of the brook Oko’pia in Umukwu-Amune, Isuikwuato. How time flies.

You rush far away
And still, beckon to me

The Brook

When in quiet hamlets, I hear you surge
Stories passing through the roaring forests,
Through white clouds garnished by sunlight,
And the tree footpaths, heading to you
I sit on the banks, to hear tales of the wild,
As surrounding trees blow us kisses,
Children pick palm nuts and small rocks
They seek a spot to crack the nuts for the seeds
The sands on your banks are comfort for my feet
And when I step into the rush; it’s cold and sweet
All this while, your waters flow in haste
To dry places, they rush to support!
Now and then a shy fish shows up
Throwing up bubbles to the surface,
Avoiding the currents, which moves defined
Catch the leaves that fall when trees are kissed
By breezes carried only by the glad wind

Trees cover the footpaths leading to the banks
Sunshine struggle to break through their ranks,
But to no avail will the sun streaks succeed
Up there, hawks whine when they fly
The path is lonely, save for rodents,
And stray reptiles that seek the day’s heat
Now and then, a fruit falls ‘pluuu..uum!’
Into the quiet and cold current
Stray little fishes scatter in confusion and excitement,
Crabs will have none of the pranks, they are unperturbed

Now, thinking of your cold current keeps me sullen,
It reminds me of my hike through the hilly trail,
Which lead to comfort and taste-quenching water
This muse shows how much I miss this excitement,
How much I dream of you, my beloved hamlet

I listen to you now as you do to me
Tell me what I missed all time I was lost
Once again, let these waters rinse me free
And the regaling rush, to excite my sight


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