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Poetry

A haiku of the night

Howls and barks from sad dogs,
Full moon, cold grips the quiet night
When silhouettes walk the lonely streets

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Africa culture/tradition folklore Igbo culture Pastoral

The Goose that laid the Golden Egg

You may agree with me that evenings are best for story telling. In Africa, evenings are valuable family time. Dinner or sitouts allow time to reflect on the days work: achievements and disappointments, and to tell tales. Tales don’t just act as lullabies but convey moral virtues (and vices) as well.

Now when a story is told in the open countryside, there’s always a fire for warmth and the moon 🌕 will be out to listen. This time around, I’m writing from my bed’s comfort and there’s no fire but a radio here.

Though this Aesop’s tale is old, the moral will never go out of fashion. I hope everyone enjoys it. I will retire for the day, good night!

A man and his wife had the good fortune to possess a goose that laid a golden egg every day. Lucky though they were, they soon began to think they were not getting rich fast enough, and, imagining the bird must be made of gold inside, they decided to kill it in order to secure the whole store of precious metal at once. But when they cut it open they found it was just like any other goose. This, they neither got rich all at once, as they had hoped, nor enjoyed any longer the daily addition to their wealth.

Much wants more and loses all!

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A muse: Sunset

Shadows
Fall behind the mud huts
They paint soulful images,
Like the web tent of a black widow
Hanging like a carefree skeleton
And the brown stains from hands
Old or fresh which design the walls

Silhouettes
Fall behind the palm trees
They draw strange figures,
One like the village masquerade
which dance heartily on happy festivals
The other like the mad man
who travelled all about the hamlet

The sun travel home after the days work
And all we have become is an airy evening

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Lullaby: Moonshine

”Where there is shine, there is a way…”

Take a walk through the pathways that lead to the village center
Pass the heavily treed garden of sour grapes and locust bean
And the ever singing Pines that border the town from the forest

Upon the skies, like a print of gold on the darkened grey clouds
A circle of light descend on the carpets of grasses and leaves
Creating a pathway of light to and fro, there and then, here and now
The fruits which hung on the forest shone like Christmas trees
Airs of the wild Nature, the rarest play on the moonshines command
Drawing faun, flora and man to her warmest embrace of light

…And for the faint and weak a very good night sleep to savor

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Airy Night

The evening is cold
The airs are mild
It blows very sweet
Into the eyes of all
Burnt ashes fly about
Even as the evening is dull
And people lay yawning
The wind continue to blow