The Planter Is Not Dead Poem by Olaniyi Adekanye

on the road to my father's farm

the mango tree of ages

blossoming and fruiting

in its stages



i wonder who the planter was

my father said

'the gods did! '



but as i whirl round the globe

here one of the gods

the planter



in a slope of memory

i remember

on the mango i ate from the tree

'...the word is an egg

when it falls on the outcrop

of a stumbling tongue

it breaks ungatherably...'



my father's tongue

yes, his tongue

must be stumbling

to say ' the man is dead.'



i saw the planter himself

i saw the 'word' himself



like the proverbial black-pot

that produces the white eko

he is unlike his colourful ink

colourlessly adorned

tame tiger to the just

wild to the wicked...



the planter is not dead.