Have you seen the wreathed baskets
That our mothers use to bear corns?
Come with your hope and dreams
To behold the treasure of my village.
There are nest for the singing birds
To sleep on the roof of our huts—
Where the noiseless noise of our mothers
Lull us into the dreamy space
There was wandering in our bright eyes—
We hunt when the forest heaves
And crept through the bushes at night.
We were curious of the woodlands,
And light-hearted as we were,
We found pleasures in all the things
In the nooks and crannies of the forest—
The stream ripples her distaste
But we paid her no mind,
As we dance in her shallow waters,
And in the silence of the glade,
We scaled the low-hung branches
To pluck ripe grapes,
Jumping like monkeys in our innocence.
Have you heard the songs of birds
That flies over the fields of heaven?
Come with your hope and dreams
To behold the treasure of my village.
© Okunola Peace.
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