Before they were hatched
And freed the finch in hand
To chase a flying eagle!
What do I tell the world?
That my eggs were rotten?
That the eagle soared too high?
Ah! See my empty hands!
I went to farm – without a hoe,
Boasting of a tuberous return!
See, the spiky tree has ripe fruits;
How do I pluck? I brought no stick!
When men begin to pound,
What song will my mortar sing?
Oju lo fi ri, ete re o ba!* Ye!*
Call me a fool and hang me!
* Oju lo fi ri, ete re o ba! Ye! – Your only see it, but you won’t taste it.
* Ye! – A cry of lamentation.
Written by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.