I am a son or the soil
To this, I am the foil
Though the wind of life
May blow me miles from home,
Yet,my roots I shall remember…..
Though like a troubadour I traverse,
Yet the voices of my homeland tutelage
I carry, whispering the songs of my roots
And this, a millennium cannot erase
For the blood in me is black and African.
I am not an alien,
For I have drank from Kurap River
Like my brothers of the Nile and Niger
And I have eaten the fruit of the land
Where my umbilical cord was planted
I have hunted in the mangrove
Where the hunk-hunk of monkeys reverberate
And the chirping melodies of birds resound;
Leopard and lions and tigers pounce their preys
And the hunter crouch, ready to strike.
I have been there,
When the sky suddenly took in
And the wind fought trees for superiority
As father shouts across the hills
To summon brothers home.
I have tilled the Ibami soil
In the company of friends
When at sunset, covered in ashes tainted earth
We stagger home bragging and boasting
Of having moulded more yam mounts
O' what a company!
Alas, the traverse and the travellers!
I am a son of the soil,
Making a living in a foreign land…
Let not my traverse swallow my patriotism!
Yes, I have traversed,
With the sands of my travelogue
I shall build my homeland
For the dog will always come back home
And a traveller should bring home bread.
Inked By: Purity Onyam