Lukkygee

A Spoken Word Poem featuring Soil Doctor and Soil.

:
Everyone keeps shouting: “Money is in oil!”
In fact, doctors keep singing how they make money from blood.
But here I am shouting
Soil is money. Money is soil.

Brownish, but golden
An engine that works without oil,
Functional without coil.
Some call soil “dirt.”
I call it the cradle of birth.
Soil structures a house
For rent or to let.
Soil feeds the mouths
So needs can be met.
Soil evolves, responds to emergencies,
Feels pain, yet suffers in silence.
It mothers all plants
Yet absorbs the wahala of human pollutants.
Even soil can be tired,
Even soil can fall sick
But it stays active.
Still carries your seed,
Still gives you a harvest.

speaks:

I am the ground beneath your feet.
The quiet keeper of every seed you eat.
You call me dirt, land, earth, clay
But I am life, and I give it every day.
I’ve cradled your roots,
Held your harvest with pride,
Carried your footprints
Though I’ve been bruised inside.

You break me, burn me, flood me deep,
Yet still, I hold your dreams in sleep.
The maize, the yam, the rice, the grain
They rise through my sacrifice, my silent pain.

You speak of food security,
But ignore the roots of purity.
You want more yield,
But at what cost?
When soil is gone what else is lost?

I am tired...
Tired of erosion washing me away,
Of chemicals stripping my clay.
Of machines that pierce without pause,
Of hands that take, yet forget the cause.

You see green fields
I feel the scars.
You see growth
I bear the wars.

So I ask you now,
Not in anger, but in plea
Will you heal the soil,
So the soil can heal thee?

Because if I die,
The roots won't rise,
The rain won't stay,
The food will dry.

I am not just the ground.
I am the beginning.
Treat me well—
And watch life keep winning.

Happy new month
Happy independent day

An Finally I decided to join the moving train , The lord has anointed me and my cup runneth over