We have come to the hills of Enyi
We the embodiment of clay and dust,
We the least of the twelve caste
Uncovered as we were on our birth
Clothed only with the shawl of our imperfection,
We come empty as the basket
That was sent with the bearer to the stream,
Or shall we make a feast when our comrades fall about in the field
And the vultures gorge their eyes for dinner
And gather their tongues for breakfast
So that they see not their claws
And say to their brethren
“Here they come, the scavengers”
Oh what tragedy has befallen us,
When was it heard that the children plot the destruction of their ancestry?
Pray brethren, pray to the God you know
Tell him how the mounts fall on our heads
How the seas belch and cart our children away
And how our brothers take our sisters
And loot their pride,
The reward of the groom for his overpriced bride,
It is for the sake of peace that the stars hide from the sun-
Tell me, If the termites eat anthills
What will befall the dry wood?
I said pray to the God you know
And here you are, talking English.
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.