We no more see the moon
Our forefathers celebrated
With war dances and ancestral praise !
The bamboos are all dried
And our soil is not revived
Now, only weeds grow,
For we no more touch our hoe!
The sun has dimmed its light
As we no more wait it’s rising!
Cocks have ceased to crow
For our ears are blocked!
We shamed our fathers
To seek the western ways
And cursed our mothers
To praise a lifestyle of lust!
Ah! In the days of my grandfather
When our ancestors still lived amongst us;
Days of valiant and virtuous mothers;
Days when eager children gather to hear
Tales of morality that guided them;
Days of the music of the mortars,
When we quenched thirst at the streams,
And the tilled land gave the best…
I hope to see the day;
When, again, the sun will stretch its rays
To rekindle the moon that guides our prayers;
When our streams would be refilled
And our dried up bamboos flourish;
When we would get back to our long deserted hoes;
When our maidens would again marry with their diamonds intact;
When our men would live with peace and pride
And our old ones smile like a young bride,
Even at the conclusion of their life
Then, would I say to my descendants
That I lived a proud African.
Written by: Owokere A. Etim
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.