I adore this corn which you call maize,
In my hand its cob I hold, My eyes dilated in paraphrase,
In my mouth its offsprings I chew,
My teeth gliding through a well arranged maze,
Fresh corn harbours that distinct taste,
My people brew it into beer and your brain is laced,
Folks in the west indies worship it as a deity of no replace,
So wonderful with rice that its last grain do I trace,
Corn beer drank from a human skull did my ancestors need, to embark on a battle race,
Grandmum loves it so much with peas that she dishes it out to us as her ace,
I have drank ginger ale but when presented with corn ale I took it on as a study case,
Its flour has sometimes kept me on for days,
If you have drank custard you will hear what the corn says,
On the west African slave ships corn was men's source of strength and grace,
Eating cornbread is so enjoyable adding beauty to its pace,
Oh! I must have over drunk from this flagon of corn-ale behold the gaze on my face.
this is musical and beautiful, textured in African culture and history. I'll read this again and again as I enjoy my next cob of corn and drink full its phenomenal taste, owed to you, Tony.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
Lovely, fun and intuitive. I can even see the gaze on your face....it is a beautiful one!