The day dawns with the sun’s fawn
The men rise to till the land
The women prise their barns to pans
Children bless the morning with glee
As usual early birds do chirp and flee
Beloved daughter of the land, Nyagiri
In tow with routine, gracefully plays her part.
Nyagiri, the young sprouting men swear by your waistline
The kin whisper tales of your honest-to-God nobility
The hens groom their slightly chics to be you
The chics in turn fume; Nyagiri this! Nyagiri that!
The elders are pleased by your seeming perfection
Oblivious you are to all these perceptions
Your craving person chimes to a yearning yonder.
Soon the dusk prowls and dust falls
Around the crackling fire the locals gather
Young and old, child mother father
The drums come alive with time baked tunes
In you join, granting the rhythm it’s dues
All the while bemused beyond the known…
Secretly Nyagiri, your being has shunned the norm.