Two Poems: A Tale of Footprints and The Baobab (John Agandin)

John Agandin

A TALE OF FOOTPRINTS

March 28,2018

Take a walk down the village path
And read the tales on its face.
A thousand tales told and retold
In the marks of those gone before.
Some full, some half trodden down
Some giantish, some dwarfish
Some clear, some blur, vanishing.
All equally lie, telling their tale
For who cares to read.
Tales of hope, tales of fear
Some of terrors and tragedies
And many strides of happy success.

Long I stood reading the silent tales
As far as the eye could see
For many are the voices on the path
Some speak in the center of the path;
And leave deep tales in the dust
That are fast trodden under and lost.
Others speak on the edges
Brushings thorns and stubs and weeds
And hardly leave an impression
But the dying weeds tell their tale.
By their effort the path grows.
Many diverge into the thicket
And still many converge on it
But the path leads on and on.

It is a man’s duty to follow it
For all must take the path
And everyone leaves silent prints
Where they meet or take the path
And those prints add a story
To the story of the path
Methinks there are many stories
But found there is actually just one,
The tale of a village path
Of feet that came and went
And left their story behind
Silent footprints on a path…

John Agandin

THE BAOBAB TREE

April 03, 2017

On a hallowed spot at home,
Stands a tall, mighty baobab.
Steeped in myth and legend
With a massive and hefty girth
Thick, wide and stout arms.
Bare it stands in the rainless moons
And cloaked green with the showers.
From every house, it calls to us;
Girls and boys, men and women
The old and the young,
The nimble and the slow,
Birds, bees, beasts, and bats.
To all and sundry it welcomes
With food, sweetness, and shelter.
Up in its arms; shrouded or naked,
Or under in its shaded bare ground,
We play, we laugh, we rest, we court.

For its fresh young leaves
Our mothers fight the caterpillars.
And for the sweet nectar,
We wrestle with the bees at dawn.
Fearing neither their ominous humming,
Nor the eventual virulent sting!
We devour the budding flowers
Though our tummies squirm in protest,
And for the fruit, fresh or dry at last,
We climb and climb and climb
Passing from limb to limb
Until the entire land lies at our feet!
Then looking down, terror seizes us
For our legs begin to quake in fright
And our feet grow wet and slippery.

Hail the mighty baobab!
Peerless in height and size
Great in aid and shade.
Standing defiant in the parched land
Neither fearing the drought nor the flood.
Mocking the mighty harmattan
And scoffing at the fierce blazing sun.
At your own sweet will and time
You bloom or shed your greenery
Your fruit are due in their season.
You know not anger, nor malice
You neither grumble nor wail
But within your big beating heart
You keep all in love and patience
If we but learn your ways, mighty baobab,
We should be twice blest over
In this harsh and remorseless world!