Mother of Nine,
We greet you.
We celebrate your bravery
When we see you swelling
With your untamed anger
Over the great waters of river Niger.
Death made you great
When your tentacles of chaos
Settle their roots in our hearts—
You killed eternity in his sleep
And out of his frozen corpse
Came the spirit of life and death.
We dance under the moon
And swirl to your forest songs
As the carpet of golden leaves
Are illuminated by the bonfires–
The maiden beads of silver color
That adorns our shapely hips
Sing like the Shẹ̀kẹ̀rẹ̀
When we shake our waist
To your favorite warrior song.
We sing your warrior song
And the cedars and thick boughs
Shake their waist to your deadly shroud—
When we see the crumbling shadows,
We remember your fiery rage
That is always silent and deadly.
We have made your favorite—
Àkàrà soaked in red oil.
Give us a taste of the intense feelings
That makes you the unbeatable warrior
Who made the storms her home,
And appear like wisp in a gust of wind.
Ọya — Goddess of Life and Death.
Shẹ̀kẹ̀rẹ̀ — A West African percussion instrument.
Àkàrà — Bean cakes.
©Okunola Peace.
2 Comments
It's been a while I read a poem whose words I could almost taste on my lips. I could hear the rhythm, the sèkèrè almost made me whine my waist to the lines.
ReplyDeleteExcellent penmanship. Well done!
Thank you very much.
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