Prodigality

Prodigality

Standing on the verge
in front of his mud hut,
The grey beard of shrivelled face
Shakes his head in a piteous slow motion
By his side comes a little boy
The grey beard pauses

And frightfully stares
Up to the sky
Like a hawk trying to fly
away without the prey
In an awful voice, he speaks
Of the unbearable pains
Of the stolen peace
To the little boy now with him
‘He travelled long, long time ago,’
He pauses again with a tedious voice,
He continues

Like a fearful prey
caught in a trap
‘Yes, ten, eleven or twelve
Yes, twelve years, to be precise
Your brother travelled to America,’
With a dim glance, he stares at
Little boy with his right hand on
Little boy left shoulder

‘We harvested many palm fruits
Sold some lands, so he could study in America,’
He sighs with a pain contorted face

Amid the struggle…
In a dream-like manner,
Comes back the traveller
Empty of meaning
With a White Dame
The grey beard speechless
Hisses with a mixed feeling

Of joy and joyous-sadness
And with an air of finality
He says still standing
‘At last, I can not laugh nor cry, but what about this alien?’



3 thoughts on “Prodigality” by Zanka Uhuru (@dpoetry)

  1. Nice story-poem… Keep writing and ‘experimenting with words for artsake’, Z. Well done. $ß.

  2. Sunshine (@nicolebassey)

    Interesting, i liked the’grey beard’ part. Well done.

  3. Fadehan Adeoshun (@Fadehan)

    Well, the poem get me going on smoothly and that was important

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