When father told the story of the parrot,
our mind built Hut in the castle of speech.
when mother told a tale of theTortoise,
we allowed our joy jumped out excitedly,
peace was restored and love gained.
Our traditional ikoro sounded with legs
and the masquerades sang with the wind.
We were the Christmas of Nkporo land
because we keyed into the ears of dreams
after the drums made their hands danced.
Yesterday,
We saw my father's spirit came in tears,
It was hidden behind the shrine of Oganigwe
It spilled the oil spreading its wings on the ground.
Then move down and sat on the heap of the nuts
sentenced with fear on the cemented ground.
Now,
Mother knew that he came to visit us,
she saw the black cat before he came.
she held our shrieking fear to overcome
this shredded bottled eared tone of yelling
of a lost family custom we knew about.
Before he left,
He laid a bed of treasure on the rack,
whisper to the governing gods ahome
that our souls are in his hands to guide
until the flashes of hallucinating pains
becomes the gullible story we will tell.
We honoured our fears right here
where broken hearts tells gory details
of a member mender of tattered call.
Father died with a silver dreams hurting
now, his spirit is restless of his mission.
We now remember his tattered tale to tell.
©John Chizoba Vincent
Cam'god