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Friday, June 23, 2017

Poetry: Invocation to the Children of My Fathers

To the sudden-blown seeds of ripened fruits
Either washed up along the parched plains
Or fertile soil by the rivers of many waters;
And the ashes remnant
Of a dead old fire,
Which once sing gold like a lyre;
And the dead banana-trunk succeeded
Yet by new tender saplings;
And the deep felt losses and transitional grief
Which are but for a time brief,
Till new a dawn comes with sweet happenings;

Children of my fathers,
What should I say, but first?
Undeniable your good blood and ancestry is nestled so high
Far beyond the reach of world's stores of wealth;
You are indeed as seeds of full grown pomegranates;
The enduring spice of all tasty puddings;

In the heady days of our beginning:
Born on the plain,
           Bred on the rock,
Washed clean in the clear Ogun waters, 
Gently flowing through the city founded on freedom.

I remember the sweltering world of our starry blast
In breathless higgledy-piggledy motions
Like the molecules of glassy substance, love-compact,
Speeding down the future's hall with lustrous appeals;
And then I saw the storm arose within your hearth,
With a sullen looks beating its furious wings,
Against our pleading nakedness as scattered weightless grains;
Orphaned and lonely chasing elusive vows and pledges
Of family and friends.

I saw hot tears from your sorrow gouged soul
Trickle down your eyes;
I saw the day disappeared from the Tree of time
Like a fearful bird on sighting the Fowler's shadow.
And the night heavily descended,
Thicken with uncertainties and fears,
But hanged we to that last popped substance
From that famed Pandora jar;
Who borne equally the brunt more gallantly but all;
Down unfeigned by the sense of loss and deep scar
Gashed on the torturous journey in the lonely deep
Of the valleys and hills of life;

I saw a daring numbers wrestled above the ivory towers;
And another numbers pulled the chestnut
Of vocational instruction out of climbing fire;
And more down proud filial cortege unfazed
By the treacherous roar of trouble waters ahead;
Which always hid from lazy views its innate bridges;
Gazing on the lead of heaven anchored lights,
And seeing with clear vision the walls
Of glorious cities with its Golden Gates ajar rising in the sun;

Children of my Fathers:

Aitete ji inu ota ndun.

Because we tarry asleep small enemies are elated.

Aji tan inu mbi baba won.

Now that we are awake big ones are angry duly.

Children of my fathers:

Aji loni aji sowo.

We are awake today into riches.

Aji loni aji somo .

We are awake today into encirclement of loving children.

Aji loni aji saiku baale oro.

We are awake today into good health the chief of all blessings.

Children of my fathers:

Agbe ko gbere pade olokun wa loni.

Let Agbe brings blessings our way today.

Aluko ko gbere pade olosa loni.

Let Aluko brings blessings our way today.

Odidere ko gbere jije munmun pade wa loni.

Let Odidere brings foods and drinks our ways today.

Children of my Fathers:

Throw your faces some perfumed talc;
And wear your brightly banquet garments;
And fitting ornaments for your necks and wrists;
And your hearts make cheery,
And be merry;
For the time of our mourning is gone,
And the days of our struggles over;

Sons and daughters of my Fathers:
Go to the sea,
     Go to the land,
           Go on air,
 Go among the people,
And write with a pen dipped in the sunlight of courage;
Your fathers’ and my fathers’ names in clear Gold;

You have come a long way,
And so deserve this panegyric ray.


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