that grows my umbilical cord,
Hear me pour words to you as libation.
Hear me raise billows of rains
Wavering in the storm
like palm fonds on the ancestral land.
We have trespassed the land of the sacred
And here we sit, unflustered,
With our hands between our thighs,
Waiting for Sacredness to show its face
Whereas our brains do not forbear its presence.
We tickle ourselves and laugh,
We do not know
That it's a test given by the Sacred
For us to test the Sacred?
It's a test given by the Sacred for you to test it-
And you failed!
Before "then" becomes "Now",
Lift that grouchy self up
Before the foul corn you have sown
is picked up by the ancestral hen.
Tswa, Omanye Aba.....!