“YET ANOTHER CORN SEASON” WRITTEN BY UDEMEZUE OLUOMA – FINALIST, TONY TOKUNBO FERNANDEZ POETRY COMPETITION 2018

YET ANOTHER CORN SEASON

It is yet another corn season
Our mothers’ hearths grow cold
But the soils grow hot

Caking up with the rain of each season
The corns sprout in full bloom

Their ears and tassels kiss the face of the naked sun
But this is only in far away places,
Where peace is no misery
But for us, a luxury

But there is hunger in the land
Sitting by our bedside
Feeding us death for supper
Counting our grave stones

Opening up the walls of our intestine

Our shirts or torn
We go about with nameless faces
Wearing our bereavements like a badge of honour
Pressed against the walls of suppression
Our hands, tied to our backs
Our tongue, castrated from our entrails
We hover around like zombies
With our teeth on edge
Looking for preys to pounce on
We have been made foreigners in our own land
Uprooted from our farmsteads

Made fragments for the hawks to feed on
Buried and decayed
Pounded and sifted
What more can we say?
What more is left of us and our cursed lands?

Our hands ache for the hoe
Our hearts pant, and with time, grow weary
But fear grips us
As we watch from afar
In far lands hearth to, where
Corns bloom in their full season
Yet, our part is to watch our hungrysoil

Hungry for seeds to be planted
In yet another season
Where no corns bloom in their season.

It is yet another corn season
The moths eat our cobs black
Our children with sunken eyes and distended stomach
Those eyes judge us; they cry for what we cannot give
A dead child is good news to the stomach
Others must have a meal

It is yet another corn season
This is how it all began
A man honest to his hoe
Another pledged by his cattle
At dawn
The hoofs rustled the corns
It made them shake from the roots
The farmer comes in the morning
Panting near the corridors of death
His cutlass is made bare  from their hiding place
Gun powder blinds the eyes that can see
Women with their children on their dangling breasts
Run like rustled cows
Young men with blood on their hands
Prance about in raged tirade
But a night came
When peace was covered in black
It knocked on each door
But no one answered
In my sleep
I heard their footsteps
I smelt flesh burn
I saw my father beheaded
And yet for many years
We wait for a season of bloom,

for yet we hope,

After so many years, and counting

For another corn season

 

ude

 

 

 

BIO

Udemezue, Oluoma loves to read and write; she also enjoys movies, oldies, and meeting new people. Oluoma believes that life is nothing without a touch of culture,  romance, thriller and reality. Her short stories and poem have appeared on different online magazines (pulse.ng, amakaanozie.wordpress.com, creativeprizes.com, coutales.com, etc,) and blogs. Catch her on: udemezueoluoma@yahoo.com, Udemezue, Oluoma Judith on Facebook, Instag- oluomaudemezue, and Twit- @Udemezueoluoma.
 

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