My Fathers Children

My Fathers Children

On those patchy laterites
My fathers children used to stoop and
squat
White chalk painted eyes
Like crescent moon emitting smiling light
Sprinkled blood statues of sacrificial fowls
Left about the places of scattered feathers
Of chewed kola nut and alligator pepper
Yet, peace we knew.
Hungry parched earth appeased
Tongues-throats of our ancestors
Of libation like cold water poured
In to scorched hearth
No! Not a shallow one
But, a hollow cup-like gourd or horn
Of ancestral palm wine Ending the long thirst
Of a single one of those gone before
The gods protecting
My fathers children peaceful nakedness
Said my fathers children
‘My guardian and protector’ Said my fathers children
‘He who pays every man accordingly’
One day of black out,
The came from the West
No more the smiling moon
Heathen, they called my fathers children
Milder the slavery then
Again, yes, the Europeans Pagans, they called my fathers children
My fathers children sold into slavery
Amalgamated the South and North
Ambiguous the coexistence today
Each sees another as unromantic note
Blood-letting now and then
Or is it tomorrow?
Who knows!
My fathers children, where are you?
Come back, come back and stay again.



2 thoughts on “My Fathers Children” by Zanka Uhuru (@dpoetry)

  1. sambright (@sambrightomo)

    Your poems have this interesting touch that one feels far from,,yet near to. Well done.

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