By: Umar YB

Not in tilling the land,
in harrowing it or in
making the ridge.

Won’t be reluctant
to irrigate the fields when
the heavens are way stingy.

Burdens me not
to enrich the land
with dung and mulch.

My willing hoe
would weed the weeds
when the need to does arise.

But I fear, I do fear
sowing the right seed
In the wrong soil.

Where the yields
Will be lost to some unworthy
pests and deficiencies.

I am afraid
of burying my grain
in an inviting yet unwell ground.

I am afraid.

Categories: Poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.