Yoruba

Who am I ?

A compound of Oyo-Empire
I’m creole not pidgin.
Phonetically beautiful are
my sons and daughters.
Phylogenetically
descendants of Yoruba;
Oduduwa the ancestor.

I rose from the root of
diaspora, a fugitive to your
eyes, touch, and nose.

I have been, and remain still;
through the remnants of time.
I have been everywhere,
over the Atlantic in a vessel
where I remain untouched by the
roughness of the sea nor by the
burden of turmoil on the
cotton field.

I play on your tongue, so they’ll
recognise you as one. I’m the
curator, the voice in your head,
your tongue the judiciary
advocate.

I am no figurine, but I’m a figure
of symbol of hope. Ask the slave master they will attest.

I am strong they needed my
strength for economic
capitalism. I’m strong they worked
me to the death but I survived still.

They swallowed me in hope to
digest like Jonah and the whale,
but I revolted sour in their
mouth; burnt their tongue, scald
their gum, and turn their teeth black.

who am I ?
A born again infant made king,
feeding on past experiences
to build a socialist future

© Dotun Gb | Poems

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