In The Village Poem by Emmanuel Isuku

In the village, all are safe and strong,
No noisy crowd, no hustling throng,
Flanked by jungles; so green in the sky,
Climbers and trees, low and high


In the village, lucid sages are seen,
Sitting on bare play-ground, very clean,
Telling moonlight myths to children at night,
Their gale faces lit by hurricane light


In the village, there are huts without doors,
The compounds' sands as fine as sandy shores
With paths: narrow, furbished and free,
Which one treads with happiness and glee


In the village, there's a maiden with supple tan,
In her hands lies the pride of the clan,
Beatitude so vivid on her soft-juicy face,
As she venerates the gods in sacred place