Campestral, A Painting
The farmer’s back is turned to us, shirtless,
straw hat cocked, one hand on a hip, the blade
of a hoe resting on a bony shoulder.
The sun seems to soak into his skin, lighting
the path of every dark sinew.
This is a painting of toiling: the soil
like uncut rock under the empty sky;
the stony heads of the yoked bulls
beside the farmer, waiting for the snap
of his whip, the click of his tongue
or a piercing whistle.
There, on the other side, as if
as an afterthought, a bicycle is spread
at the edge of the field’s weary brown.
straw hat cocked, one hand on a hip, the blade
of a hoe resting on a bony shoulder.
The sun seems to soak into his skin, lighting
the path of every dark sinew.
This is a painting of toiling: the soil
like uncut rock under the empty sky;
the stony heads of the yoked bulls
beside the farmer, waiting for the snap
of his whip, the click of his tongue
or a piercing whistle.
There, on the other side, as if
as an afterthought, a bicycle is spread
at the edge of the field’s weary brown.
BIO:
Ridwan Badamasi is a Nigerian. He writes from the ancient city of Kano. A Biochemistry undergrad in Bayero University, his works have appeared in Praxis Magazine, Kalahari Review, Salamander Ink Magazine, and elsewhere. You can find him on Twitter: @RidhwanBadamasi
Ridwan Badamasi is a Nigerian. He writes from the ancient city of Kano. A Biochemistry undergrad in Bayero University, his works have appeared in Praxis Magazine, Kalahari Review, Salamander Ink Magazine, and elsewhere. You can find him on Twitter: @RidhwanBadamasi
