MOTHER TONGUE

“Give these words life,” cried Akumedei the old sage.
His three grand children turned to look at him,
Found mother-tongue inscrutable and paused.
The old sage adjusted his wrapper, stood up
From the colonial rocking chair bemused.
Turning to his son he rained

Proverbs down, “A piece of iron can only become
What the blacksmith says it should become.
If a child shoots an arrow to the top of a tall palm tree
Then it must be that an elderly person carved the arrow for him.
Because you forsook the quiet of our rivers,
The rhythm of our konga, the voice we all share;
These ones are now strangers in their land.
You have turned down my request to bring
These ones to us. Now, they can hear but
Strange voices, dance to a different rhythm
And speak with another’s tongue.”
The son heard him, and the truths of his own spirit
Grew toward the light of day.

[Onis Sampson, Nigerian poet writes from Port Harcourt.]