FOR XENODZI

Fonyemetɔwo, there is a Boat on the River

And Kutsiami the only Boatman at the haven

of sprawling Waters is about to row me home

If Dzoɖuamtɔwo want to smoke me out early

It is Adehenu mehea aɖiɖigbale o who said

it’s the secret of the world

that nothing dies

 

They say Awudi de aʋa metsina aʋa o

Because on this earth akpa klika mewua elo o

So tell them that we do not die, but retire a little

from sight and afterwards return again

it is Hofe who said nothing dies

 

He said, nothing dies; men, women,

the old and young they feign themselves dead

to accept our dirges and mournful notes,

while they stand before the windowsill

looking sound and well, in some strange disguise

watching our tears fall in torrents of rain

 

so, when Death comes

like the hungry hyena into the veldt

to take the bright Coins from our Purse

tell my children, tell all kith and kin

I step through the door full of curiosity

wondering what it’s going to be like

in that cottage of Darkness

 

And perhaps if death is kind,

and there can be a returning

I will come back one fragrant night

and walk those village lanes again

to join in at the dinner table

 

I’ll then look into the eyes

of each new offspring

I will give a long handshake

to all kith and kin

 

But when I come down

there should still be the resounding drumbeat

of Akpalu, Kinka, Akpoka, Afa,

in fact, Gbadza and not Azonto

with henɔgawo singing the old songs

 

We will meet under the baobab tree

where once we met the ancestors and they accepted

our offerings and gave us the long gentle breeze

that brought rain to the crops and peace to the land

 

the night will be starlit

and you will be happy you were there