The Joys of Our Mother

THE JOYS OF OUR MOTHER Before Eko learn how to pronounce his name, Let him learn to brother his brothers And the older brothers from broader brother too. For this is the way of the soldier-ants Who will never bid a bleeding brother by the border. Right from 1914 When our mothers bled out tears from their pristine vagina, Till the early sixties When our big uncles fought a viscous battle with the European battalions To ensure our liberty; We've been here tangoing. And now, let the dance continue And the music knows no stop. For together, we drank the frowzy portion from Nigeria When the 'Long-Noses' sell their language to us. Oh! I'll keep calling my brother's name with it And my brothers, mine. The warm-fuzzies of drinking in this jorum Shall be; when a load is to be carried, The whole fingers lend in their strength. The broom never sweep with a stick. The soldier-ants never barricade with just a soldier So, when I answer my brother's name And he answers mine too, Mother will nod from her grave "These are my sons". And our voice shall pierce through the desert wind To take our message to gods who feed on children skull.