Let Me Sing For You
Bring the cymbals, bring the sticks.
Raise the acuba, set the konga.
My talking drum hangs in my grandfather's room,
Wake up the old man and oil his wrinkled palms.
Invoke the sun and appease the rain,
Offer them kolanuts and bitterkolas,
Give them palm oil but no palm wine,
Lest they lose their minds and ruin my play.
Tell the Eastern wind to bring calmness,
Sound the gong, beat the drums and clap your hands.
Open your mouths and click your tongues,
Round your lips and blow through them.
Bring my garment of fire,
And let the game begin.
Dance to the square and
Let me sing for you.
Let me sing for you,
Oh you the African queen,
Let me sing for you and only for you.
Oyebola, roll your round hips and let me sing,
Oyebola, oh you the elegant beauty,
Oyebola, the epitome of African fairness.
Oyebola, brown like the sandy soil,
Oyebola, dark like the loamy soil.
Oyebola, move your long legs and let me sing.
Oyebola, clapping like thunder upon the roof,
Oyebola, rolling as if blades of an electric fan.
Oyebola, the fairest of the fair queens,
Oyebola, the one the housewives envy,
Oyebola, the lady the virgins hate.
Oyebola, the tamer of princes,
Oyebola, the Iroko in the market centre!
Take the stage and flood my play.
Let my flute play until the dawn darken.
Let my voice sing till I become dumb.
Let my body sweat until my cloths tear.
Let me sing for you,
The fairest of all.
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Comments about this poem (Singing For Tata Mandela by Babatunde Idowu Ebenezer )
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