The voice of the silent gods.
Papa is still without, digging trenches
And mama fried akara balls
At the village outskirt.
The insistent pounding of the drum
Caused my head to weigh a ton;
But papa swift feet seems slow today
And mama sharp tongue is muffled by silence.
I will answer the call of the gods;
And bid my head, stop pounding.
But fear gripped me
In its cold embrace.
The gods want a lamb
And a dame to birth a name,
A fame to shame the lame
And bring back the lost glory.
My gender dictates me a female
And my fairness of heart and blood made me eligible;
But papa is without, digging trenches
And mama fried balls of akara at the outskirt.
The gods submerged my confusion.
In the single drone of their voice,
The decision is made,
But mine isn’t.
I am to be the King’s maiden wife
And birth the name to shame the lame;
But my soul lingers with Adio,
Who had taught me to fish at the village river
My spirit fried akara with mama
And my mind digged papa’s trenches.
But my body, the gods have taken
To birth the death of my youth.
The gods have spoken;
The white lamb was slaughtered
And its blood cleansed my unwashed body
And trifles were forced down my throat to cleanse it from vile.
Papa digged trenches still;
Mama’s voice drowned out the gods’ own:
She never stopped talking;
And I became a maiden of no virtue:
My honour lie wasted upon a slab of cold marble.
Papa’s feet digged trenches in the street
And mama’s tongue knows no stop
(the echoes still fresh in mind).
She fried akara balls no more.
My soul died with Adio;
My spirit is fried in mama’s tears;
My mind is buried in papa’s trenches
And my body belonged to the gods still.
To be continued…