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.”
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