Metamorphosis Poem by pedro moshood

Dripdrop like Noah's flood drumming the roof sheet;
The crystal streetlamp stood lonely like city moon,
A cloud of dedicated moths would woo the goddess,
The Helen of Troy, to amuse passersby with worship pride.

Grandpa would erect scarecrow at the farm footpath
Against the immigrants birds, while the priests would
Sprinkle the bone ashes against imminent plagues:
But locust and halves would always eat the best of the harvest.

In the thick dark sky and humid air, coated, I would
Take a hike to hear wings flap, see the city wonders,
Grumbling petition, lovers' whisper and moths in battalions
To bring back the memory of my village dry husk, yellow tendrils,

Black sweet potatoes, the fresh air in its element, and libation
Springing at gods' foot; the moonlit tails and chocolate earth
And oiled yams; African inborn image through the fading meteors
In the empty sockets of homeless migrants breeding city slum

In a painted alien land. My rustic botanical tutor once
Taught us the relation of things in the ecological chain:
The pioneered plant, insects, pests and human primate.
She claimed the end of one life begins another.

I could remember the locust plague, a decade back,
Swamping down rebelliously upon our cornfield,
As my dying old man had to flee with his feeble feet
Almost touching his neck, leaving his first grandson.

At the corner of each city choleric drainage,
Some beggars would squat in quee with empty bowls for bread;
These are my people finding life no longer at ease
Chased out of their lands to breed future terror in the city.