Voice of the Wind
By Late Elemo Oladipo Ojo Abitogun
Listen to things rather than beings.
Listen to the shrill out of the field.
Listen to the voice of the rice panicles,
Or the ears of com while the wind breezes.
Listen in the rice field,
To the Voice as if from the vaults,
Listen, Listen, Listen.
Bend down with your ears to pick The voice as if the earth speaks.
Listen to the croaking of the trees
Mating perhaps when two branches against each other mb.
There is a voice here that tells me of the windy man in the wind.
He sneezes when it thunders, and snores when it breezes.
Listen and be careful When you go through the gale.
Listen very carefully as the crops bow in obeisance to His will.
Listen; Listen; Listen.
There is a voice out of the field.
There is a groan no mortal can understand.
May be the rice plants do; may be!
Come what may.
Home is sweet home.
But home should be bright and gay,
Unlike this one Like the hill of a mole!
May be, I suffer a delusion of too high an expectation.
Here 1 am now
In this hell called home.
Stranded, six moons and a vow To bring my little chicks home To roost unending
In mother land – Nigeria.