My Forefathers. Poem by John Chizoba Vincent

My Forefathers.



My forefathers once poured dry gin on the
green land of Nkporo from the North to the west,
Prayed for prosperity and harmony to their children.
Gathered us under the half yellow moon and narrated
To us the traditions and cultures of our people.
'Ifeoma di na iru, Nke iru ka' they said.
Discouragement and fear is for the weak.
They once lived happily with little or nothing to hold
Onto and yet bounced back on their responsibilities with courage.
Blew the whistle of peace and sounded the drums of oneness
Among the Osu and the Ogbanje down the stream.
They waited patiently for the new yam festivals
With smiles on their broad, sweet black faces watching
The children danced in the village square of Nkporo.
They marked Nzu on their foreheads
Give little to the strangers who visited them in their Obi.
The Omu tightly fixed on their hands and some on thier hands
Down on the sand beside their Obi Agu we watched
Them Keenly, the gods were with us all along.
'Njiko ka Anyi jiri biri' they said in one accord.
Strife, corruption, injustice, embezzlement of public fund, they know not.
But looked up to the gods in Agbala for hjustice.
Nkporo masquerade they entertained themselves with.
Wisdom, they visited with kola nut in their lips,
Cutting it into pieces as they talked with wisdom.
'go to the ant and learn' wisdom advised them
Only them knows why women bend down while urinating and men stands.
Only my fore fathers could tell why The He goat smell.
They worn understanding like a chain round their neck
Tied joy round their waist like a wrapper.
Only them could tell why babies never talk.
When we asked why?
they told us to wait till we have grey hairs,
But the cultures and traditions they never fail to paased them to us with smiles.
Great and mighty they were,
My forefathers, who once matched the Nkporo sand to the south south for war.
Defeated and conquered the Iboms.
Now i matched them as i walked,
The soil i matched were my forefathers
Death had feasted on them and they turn to mud which i match.Ages past, my forefathers know not matches but they made fire,
Healthy were they in their little world of hope.
Now they are gone, wisdom gone.
Sickness hastened by as good health escape
Centuries passed by when i've seen my forefathers last.

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