What is this?
What did we miss?
What is old is dusty.
They no longer remember, their memory is rusty.
Culture, we make amiss
Our children are culture unthirsty
This is what we chose to dismiss,
We didn’t know they’d become so unlucky.
All for the fad of the tube show
Our culture refuses to grow
Is the bond of culture still strong?
At what point did we get it wrong?
Its strength is now becoming slow
We have been losing, not quite long
Its rich essence-a thing i know
Ours is all but a dying song.
On what cloud do children now gather?
I hear the Konga drum whistle with no dance to bother.
Why do their tongues forget their mother’s homes?
Rain dance is only a myth in history when we roam.
They gather not for Suwe, iCloud brings them together.
Their feet cannot taste the earth and its loam,
When they have nameless fathers with unknown forefathers.
No more writings of rainbow, it’s now white or chrome.
The children speak the minds of machines
Throw tantrums at will,
Do not owe parents gratitude, love or kindness
This is acceptable to them.
The children speak their minds folded in yours
The adults throw the tantrums,
Don’t owe the children gratitude ,love and kindness
This is acceptable to us