We have come home
With our soiled boots
In our tarttered shorts hanging amidst air
With our flesh needful of wash
Our hoes staggering on our backs
our throat craving for the dew
Our backs fighting for support
Our eyes looking behind our shadows
Though hopes we left in our farms
We have come home
In our planting pairs
Our arms paralysed with pain
Our feet needful of no walk
Our shorts sagging in wearyness
Our gaze upon our yield
We have come home
Vexed by the roaring thunder
Drained by the dreaded rain
In tears for the locust plague
Dispaired by the scourging sun
Alert by our animals play
Yet peeping for our yieldful hopes
We have come home
After the fearful days was gone
When nature has gazed upon our gain
When our harvest was ripe and green
Where our baskets was heavy with grain
Where our boots was clean and keen
Where we whistle cutting our bunch
We have come home
Men gladened by wine
Laughter after our light affliction
Our cloths soiled with oil
Our fingers stocked with bread
Airing our teeth in painful joy
Our cheek fattened after our pay
Our reward in our bossom at last
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hi Chidubem. A very emotional tale of a hard days labour with little reward, but that little rewards was so thankfully received. Well done and more than worthy of a **10** Regards Dave T.