COUNTRY LIFE 1
I was a king
when fronds went to war
and chalk was the mortar to peace.
Warriors squat about
to gaze at me as to the golden sun
and kiss happy chants from cold gourds
yet when the stars blink at dusk
and the idle breeze
sweep the country fields
I would rain bitter tears
like dew around the palace floor.

At noon we’d waft blood on our gone folks
and pray they enchant our soil
as we raped the virgin lands.
We drowned the milky sap
which grew in us daring minds,
and wrapped our loins in lion hides
and chant the Ikoro to war
and bring home in happy cries
captives to keep our huts.

With powdered hairs we spied the sky
to spot the gods behind the clouds
when they'd beckoned us to join gone folks
in the blessed streets beyond.

At death we’re laid under sacred trees
where chieftains and maiden lads
would hop around in chants.

We slept to be re-awakened.
We are immortal.

Uchenna Shadrach Franklin