The Calabash
Last night when you cried
It was because you were thirsty
Neither for water nor for wine
For the caress on your tiny neck.
Why do you lament
The torment of the whiteman's bottle?
They say you are the black man's symbol
Yet your word exist in several languages.
Now you have fallen on the lost rock
Your parts scattered around the clock
Those who have accomplished this feat
Celeberate their endless defeat.
Abuja stoops to conquer you
To take the breath from your nostrils
And your heart covered with morning dew
Smiles at the wounds of their entrails.
Do not smile, Do not smile
It is not a mark of greatness
To watch your people die or starve
It's not a thing of pride to be a slave.
The bangles of freedom
Sounds from the warm and eager hand
But the children of Sodom
Have taken over rule in our land.
The calabash is broken, is broken
And the token of the future lies
Abandoned, like J.P. Clark's casualties
The calabash is broken, is broken
Tell it to the palm tree, so let it mourn
Let it cry tears for Chima and for you
Who do not realise that the corn
Planted in the farm will soon be few.
Dele-Israel Ikeorha
Kaduna, Nigeria
It was because you were thirsty
Neither for water nor for wine
For the caress on your tiny neck.
Why do you lament
The torment of the whiteman's bottle?
They say you are the black man's symbol
Yet your word exist in several languages.
Now you have fallen on the lost rock
Your parts scattered around the clock
Those who have accomplished this feat
Celeberate their endless defeat.
Abuja stoops to conquer you
To take the breath from your nostrils
And your heart covered with morning dew
Smiles at the wounds of their entrails.
Do not smile, Do not smile
It is not a mark of greatness
To watch your people die or starve
It's not a thing of pride to be a slave.
The bangles of freedom
Sounds from the warm and eager hand
But the children of Sodom
Have taken over rule in our land.
The calabash is broken, is broken
And the token of the future lies
Abandoned, like J.P. Clark's casualties
The calabash is broken, is broken
Tell it to the palm tree, so let it mourn
Let it cry tears for Chima and for you
Who do not realise that the corn
Planted in the farm will soon be few.
Dele-Israel Ikeorha
Kaduna, Nigeria
posted by Dele-Israel Ikeorha at 5:30 AM
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