Fertile Deserts, Barren Paddies.

 

Good, yet incurably bad.

Stinking, sweet aromas.

Sad, smiling faces.

We loath and love simultaneously

We are of course being ourselves.

***

Barren rice paddies, filled with

empty husks, none to thresh.

Yet bellies awaiting filling,

bodies needing fuelling.

All shorn of themselves.

***

Deserts so fertile

with gore so sore.

No, not of produce.

Alas of pogrom.

Tragedies for us all.

***

Opposites, converses,

our discuss, all warped!

Common ground narrowed

by conversations so blithe,

offspring o’ fertile deserts, barren paddies.

 

© Adewale Adeniji. May 2018.

One thought on “Fertile Deserts, Barren Paddies.

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