Song of the Rock

Upon this rock, was my fate etched By the hands of Akooke Olemo. I lingered on her laps like mummy’s boy, Though my own blood at me, distantly beckoned. Her Martian hand nurtured and nourished me, And made me dance to the Luo drumbeats; Singing sweet songs in tongues, tongues of discord; Music that ruggedly rutted the faces of my kinsmen! Then our native drums sounded a call, A call to a wayward son of the soil, An invitation long awaited, A time for initiation into the ways of Ateker. And to the cadence of Atenus beats, my feet did rebel. Now, to my motherly rock, I must return; For in her rough rugged back, Was my dismally dark destiny scribbled: “Emoit.”