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57 Germanus Canisius Nchanji (1940) A Tale of Lalang Grass It was… the green shoots of lalang grass Sparked a vain hope in my breast. So young in bud among the stubs of burnt shrubs, They sang, the epic of bloated days. She knew the whistle even in the fiercest wind, Ridge after ridge she’d leap for joy She said she hated to be coy. By the river a few bees hummed their lyrics For us alone; she kisses me till I almost melt. But the sun cast our shadow in the earth, The village séance spelled in sternest tones, “This love must die; ye are eighth cousins!” It was the greenness of their youth, Supple, Glaucous, Turgid with the first drops of summer rain, Nimble, burgeoning, Tilting the earth where the ashes clotted, Ready to pierce and hurt. It is the lalang grass that chases me Like a swarm of bees in all my dreams. Woman On A Skiff In The Ndian River Where are you heading, Woman on a skiff, paddle in hand Plying the brackish water? Where are you heading with grey tufted hair Early in the morning With the darkness lingering Licking the water No weaver birds yet twittering Where are you heading? 58 What awesome mission weights Compels the heart to adventure Alone from your warm thatched hut Into the cold current of the Ndian River? Away from hot glowing coals at the hearth Away from the smoke lingering at twilight? What mission propels on the solo drive Defying age, challenging the dark depths The sun’s about to peep on the glassy mass. What urgent rendezvous do you have to meet You’ve shrugged off sweet morning sleep, A giddy heart not wanting to tarry Nor kill time as palm trees stand Sentinels along the river course! Where are you heading? Heavy rollers of our speed boat Rush in at you in rapid succession By God! You know the water As you know the back of your hand; You understand its element, what empowerment! Got the eye of an eagle. Intent on killing the approaching wave A lean of the paddle, a steadying of the skiff A wriggle on your sitting place Now raised to the crest… It is paddle, paddle, paddle! Now swallowed into limbo… Now up and clear into heaven There you go: only minor ripples re-echo As you continue, head high, unperturbed Heading for the mangrove creeks? Heading for where the fish will bite Heading for the high seas? Where are you heading? ...

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