The vector warrior
Chief of the spears
Fighting to hold these lands with his hands.
Long! King! Lion! Long Du’ut
Father of the seven rooms
opening to hold Dungba, Menka’at, Dungoeshin, Du’ut.
The leader of the southー
that feathery eye.
Kong gurum ka goe toêp.
The bringer of rain and the veil of the sun
The undying konzo with hairs of a leader.
A goê heèn yûng Nda
dèi goê lîa’k shal ka yil men.
Someone paramount for a paramount head.
He is god, father and spirit.
The left foot feather,
The careless caregiver.
Dè bêkwa’ra, the old toddler.
The soles of his feet are lamps.
His eyes protect the entire forest.
He is the trunk, the tree, and the roots.
Ebeshè Oma’ng!Idagu’s water basket.
The cloud of all cardinals.
A fortune in ancestors.
The gate and the key.
The sling of Abuochiche.
Amidst the chaos
Of our father’s schedules
His tribal autographs
Has always reached our faces
Before our gums, ka’viv’aya its breast.
He’ll ka’ah with awe our cries,
Tie his laughter to its breath,
Sing in tongues ritual songs
From flutes curved from horns
Of unlucky gha’l.
Then he’ll whisper ‘Vashira’, ‘Rambia’;
Our names to mumtsi ear of the gods,
Scream manyar mhund’ha to chong,
And fuchong to wombs that lack.
My father is Gung-za’ar!
A representative of his people in foreign lands,
A chief servant,
“Daa’du” he is greated,
A sword, his staff of office,
Never to eat outside his house hold,
A father to all, unbiased.
In between kosai and kwashia.
Eggs and a fool.
Undeniably just another tool.
Before the Omo wou.
There’s a Charley wot3.
Declearing seasons and periods.
Weather and drum rolls.
Heads cooked in Shirins.
Far descended from ile ife.
The gods they’ve made for themselves.
Heads serve as God.
Giving out judgements.
Dictating who lives and who shouldn’t.
Sprouted far long from ile ife.