The soil have treated me thus
She is angry, all my efforts
Are in vain
Earth and water is at war with me.
As if I have done the world great wrong
On sharp thorns do I tread through
This lonely journey.
My feet bleed, just as my heart cries
Out softly as I walk through this path
The land refuses to yield me fruit
A land that usually rolls with joy
As man toils to bring forth fruit
Out of her womb
like a mother heavy with child.
The honey of this world
Are for those that can bear its stings
My people we have treated her wrong
We neglected our first love as Africans
Tilling the soil till she yield to
Our hard work
In return she tosses us around like whirlwind
Laughing at us as we sweat in fields in vain.
This is her tribute to us for those days and nights
We neglected to cuddle her, to fill her centre deep with
Now she is cold to our needs too.
We should return to our first lover
If we treat her right
She may take us back to her bosom
And we might be lucky to get a glimpse of
Her smile again
That we must do while it is shines to make hay.