They asked me for a praise song
For a warrior coming home
With trophied skulls
To talk about the strength of his arm
The roar of his voice
And the majesty of his steps
They asked me to remind us
Of his peerless lineage
His father of the one eye fame
His grand father that took down an elephant by himself
How many heads decorates his walls
Trophies from many conquests
They asked me if I had forgotten
The leaves shake when he passes
The Iroko stands at attention at his command
How he commands the eagles and the dogs.
I think of the words to use
The rhythm to lay out
As each word fits into the call of the flute
And the persistence of the ogene
I think of the warrior in full flight
Eyes bulging
Heart heaving
Sword severing heads
Feet trampling blood and guts
And the small voice crying out for her mother.
I see the wizened dibia
Dancing around the medicine pot
Filled with leaves, skulls and entrails
Of eagles, monkeys and slaves
I could picture the warriors emerging from the pots
Sweating and fortified
Against arrow, blade and the cry of babies.
They ask me what I am waiting for
That the parade was at hand
That last years songs were for a different battle
That my songs was the missing feather
To fan blood of men
Too scared to jump into the fortifying pot
But now overjoyed to welcome
Our warriors with the skulls and splattered entrails.
I want to tell them that my muse
Went to battle too
Without dancing in the medicine pot.
That my muse was left behind in the battle field.
My muse stayed back to bury the dead
My muse was looking for the homesteads of the dead
To return their swords and shields
And my muse could not leave the starving dog
Barking beside his burnt kennel.
And now the words refuse to come out
Will silence rhyme with the beat of the drums?
My stutter does rhyme with the welcoming cannons
But my tongue is stuck to my palate .
My muse is left behind in the battle field
How do I now sing for the victors?
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