my valiant one
when you are summoned
to the ancestral council
look them straight in the eye
tell them of the day
the Eke day in the dry season the market was full
old women and batskins
young men, tales and lewd songs
maidens, mothers and palm oil
ask the ancestors
don't you know war has come to us
and now we fight without parley?
tell them
war came to us
in the heat of the dry season when the art of bow stringing had faded in the euphoria of mirrors and jaded beads
war speared our maiden folk
and spattered the blood of their honour
on the filthy khaki of your brigade
your new age mates brimming with bloodlust
like a sow in heat.
tell them
that war has ripped our innocence
with savage yanks of blunt bayonets
and we have learnt
the sweet taste of human flesh ,
that we have learnt to bury our living
within the footprints of black boots
tell them my valiant one
we have learnt
to devour our brothhers
and the coffins are empty
the warriors that raped our lineage are strangers,
strangers in heaven.
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