'Yule-farm': The Hope for the Yam - By Olaniyi Abdulwaheed


My farm is fertile, swollen
With offspring of softened rock
Esuru, ewura[1],

Coming to the world by the shore
Of my shovel, hoe, knife and machete
Hatching its skin to prepare feast
For the pot to dine with fire –
The wedding of mortar and pestle, afterwards
The time of yuletide of the dinner, beckons
To the new wives to swallow the new tuber
On the bed.

Here the pounded, the hope for the barren
To host the next king in her stomach
Pounded yam, the therapy for anarchy
If there be pounded yam, or poundo yam
Kings kick either knickers or trousers of anarchy.

Lords[2] of Poundo-yam with their messianic machines
Save the kings from primal death
Give dons the strength to retain the wisdom
Stir the students’ skulls to host the knowledge 
Where are the other lords to join hands and save our lives?




[1] Types of yam in Western Nigeria
[2] Inventors of Poundo-yam machine

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