The gods twirl in star-filled nights
Deified in tales fathers tell
On cold shelves of the nights
When they performed tale nights séance.
Deified in tales fathers tell,
Mixed with miry sputum and kola
When they performed tale nights séance
Whence myths jump in our ears.
Mixed with miry sputum and kola,
These tales defy death –
Whence myths jump in our ears
And songs on our mothers’ tongues.
These tales defy death
In the pith of drunkenness,
And songs on our mothers’ tongues –
Like sprouting seeds, growing in our sleep
In the pith of drunkenness,
Diurnal songs and tales whirled;
Like sprouting seeds, growing in our sleep –
Dancing to harmattan wind
Diurnal songs and tales whirled
On cold shelves of the nights
Dancing to the harmattan wind,
The gods twirl in star-filled nights.
This poem was published in the 8th Issue of PoeticAfrica magazine.
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Read – The Road to Grandma’s House – Grace Thuo (Kenya)
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