HOW WE KILLED OUR FATHER

That our children may not think of us rootless
We shall say now,
Before this cold breeze freeze our ink
And the dumb death seize our mouth,
Before we won't be able to eat again or breath again,
We shall tell now;
How we killed our father.

Our identity, the feeling agent
Intact; neither faded by sun contact,
Constant; nor changed by the dark of night
But if today, yesterday's black turns devil on whites' screens,
Or paints villain in their novels;
It's at the emergence of grudge,
That our low lullaby becomes an insult.

If we were ever handicapped, not culturally
And our tradition could not be frightened by any custom,
Not on any challenging or norm less road
Charged was our respecting speedometer,
But if at dawn a cock crows tomorrow
And a naive native son deny father a humble prostrate,
Knot the blames on the neck of last stroke.

On that shameful market,  by the street
Before our pride was being priced for naked,
And my sister's navel daily weeps for privacy
Prestigious dresses we had in basket,
The one that will never mistaken my brothers for lunatics
Maybe by covetousness, maybe by black brain,
That we lost all to the assimilation policy.

Before our religions legs being bound by the white collar
And finally cuts short by the sword of that man of law,
The mouth of visible gods speaks truly the mind of an invisible God
No violence, no discrimination, no killing for religious sake,
Worship your God and I hold to mine
No propagandism, no force imputation of  beliefs,
The ground was wide enough to harbor any child's play.

Before our studios become a low rate bin
The one that's addicted to any type of mess,
Thoughtful, knowledgeable songs we had on playlist
Our cinemas was never a university of free madness,
To Young Minds it would never envelope evil
Each blunt or bright scenes speaks morals,
Our music was pure food for all dyeing souls.

How we sold him to slavery farm
How we lost him to the friendly enemies,
How we were being robbed of our dignity
That our minds may be freed of blames,
That our children may not think of us rootless
We shall say now;
How we killed our father.

#PsalmsInk

© Samuel O. Ogunyinka