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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: I dunno

Submitted: June 19, 2018

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Submitted: June 19, 2018




A day like this is sacred, A day of our ancestor's return. A day when our fathers return from pathless trips, And our mothers from distant markets.

Today the dead is alive, And their spirits contained in our hearts. Today the masquerade bear my fathers, And the stream smells of my mothers.

The day breaks with kolanut, And dusk is eaten with palm oil. The fine wine is poured, And mother earth gets drunk in taste and praises.

Our men are clothed in bravery red, and the women in innocent white. For it reminds us of death and immortality. The path that we must someday take, like our fathers did.

Our homestead smells of ritual, Our fingers smoked in tradition, For our ancestors shall banquet with us, And they shall tell us tales of the end.

The praises of our ancestors is carried in the wind, An earful of both caution and credit. The hollow drum is sounded, And madness is cursed upon our dance steps. For we dance to entertain our still grandmothers.

Our ancestors shall walk the paths by midnight, And they shall leave for us gifts; Our sons shall be full, And our daughters fertile.

It is midnight, But our ancestors do not rest at our backyards.

They live awake in our hearts. Ancestral Festival!

© John Praise Ochoche.

© Copyright 2018 john praise. All rights reserved.

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