MY VILLAGE, MY PRIDE


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Grace and Beauty smiles of nature

The deeper side about life is not about screaming and yellings. It is about the silences and reflections which travels upon the tablet of the heart. It is this deeper side of the night at the village that many fail to recognise.

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the heart of a village_accommodation

The fact therein is that, that beautiful mid-night, talks to the skies to cry in dew, which glows to kiss the broad green leaves out of it dryness.

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riding in thees village car

It is upon this same night that the birds, aphids, pink birds, soldier birds and fire-flies zoom on at the faces of these innocent souls at the cape side of thoughtfulness around the going and the mending of life.

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the beautiful skies of nature

Life is so simple. Little or no complexities at all. The natural cyclic truism of pains, agonies, worries and woes are recycled by the dark shadowing trees calling her sons and daughters to filter the atmosphere with purely oxygenated cool sweeping air.

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nature’s pride, humans.

Isn’t it so plain and cliff arresting drinking from a dry calabash filled with purified nature’s chlorinated water of the falling dew? Science and oral tradition at cross-road of ceremonial marriage, intertwining the true beauty of their tantalising ionic bonding. Ah, that is so beautiful….

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surrounded by nature’s grace

Nature indeed has a charming eyes watching from afar over the towers of these innocent mortals sleeping under the cocoa shade of a deep night, thinking, winking and snoaring deeper into the vast cheering trees.

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The Village ThinkerImage

I am not a poet, neither a philosopher nor a tale-teller, yet am that chronicling villager alluring and oiling the hard palms of the 21st century society’s baked and cracked palms with a soothing oil milked out from coconut water.

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my village, my pride

My village, my pride. I am sentimental to the pleas of the no electricity and luxury pomps, but while we dance under the dark skies to the sparkles and smiles of the stars, and finding our feet to the small toe of the moon, we apologise not to say, but we are proud of our deeper reflections in the mirrors sanding down her mundane pieces to the grave-yard.

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