Mbingima

I

I will only tell the truth,
If you will sit and listen,
To a tale as old as Ruth,
But young as a new season.

Of a man, rude and uncouth,
Who time pushed to abandon,
Who fought to remain in youth,
But lost the ones he'd chosen.

Listen, I won't speak untruth,
Lest I perish from poison,
Lest I lose a single tooth,
Or have my honor, lessen.

You have gathered in this booth,
Let me teach you a lesson,
Let me pluck the Jiki root,
This luscious land is built on.

Sons and husbands more like mine,
Brandish danger to fondle.
These father-gods, serpentine,
Who cast words to a riddle.

On the backs of the divine,
Who choose the people to dwell,
Through blood, they call from the shrine,
To the ones who must marvel.

Sisters, mothers, clementine,
Who stand on seeds and trample,
Whose strength they choose to opine,
Whose life they choose to tangle.

Veiled by gods, so feline,
Whose beauty does not wrinkle,
Whose wishes now, can combine,
Jiki wisdom to muddle.

The mother who will archive,
Who lays the trends in the wake,
Who moves mountains to revive,
The things that her children make.

Who keeps the beating drum alive,
Who dries the paint, mends the break,
Who helps melodies survive,
And keeps the words fully awake.

When she sings, the birds all thrive,
When she draws, the earth will quake,
She will learn and not deprive,
The world's teachings to partake.

She'll remember to derive,
All the world will ever make,
Nowo Mana, Imizeh,
Imizeh, The Wise Mother.

The father who will provide,
Who owns one and all as wife,
Who rules, who keeps, who presides,
Over every single life.

Like a true star, he will guide,
From life to the afterlife,
Twinkling in Earth's shadow pride,
To guide fates like a midwife,

The one mind, that can decide,
Which seed will bloom to be rife,
Who showers love to provide,
The green on earth and wildlife.

Gentle touch, his love will glide,
Bring growth to a man with no strife,
Loyora Paba, Imoseki,
Imoseki, The Father Giver.

The mother who remains bold,
Who pursues, who stands, who fights,
Who are mighty to behold,
Who instills the rightful fright.

In the embers of night's cold,
She bleeds black for the birthright,
So that her warriors may hold,
No bones in their flesh for flight.

With hands, she will deftly mold,
And build from dawn till twilight,
Pounding fists to thunder scold,
To cover, to shield, and keep right.

Her strength and power are told,
From beyond mortal sight's plight,
Ibum Mana, Imusop,
Imusop, The Strong Mother.

The father who should baptize,
Whose hands bring amends again,
Whose sweet kisses energize,
Like the water from a fountain.

He mends wounds to stabilize,
And builds bodies to maintain,
He crafts skin to optimize,
A newer, living domain.

Who did he cut for the wise?
What did he mix with crushed grain?
Where'd he learn or realize,
That a wound could seal again?

This father who really tries,
Who does his best to ease pain,
Bengi Paba, Imelheji,
Imelheji, The Father Healer.

Side by side, they all will rule,
In a luscious land's green heart,
Where boundaries carved in a pool,
Cause evil to fall apart.

The mountain, a wielded tool,
Bubbling beneath to impart,
The woes that bring ridicule,
And warn of dangers on earth.

They must hold the land's spool,
As it fights them to restart,
But together, a capsule,
The darkness they've done to thwart.

Like the hum of a whipped mule,
This union must not depart,
Or they shall bow to a fool,
In Usejiki's wild heart.

Careful, my lies take captive,
In a warm, dulling embrace,
You must wait for times festive,
So that you can see my face.

I am free, I'm submissive,
I exist for your short grace,
I will breathe, I will survive,
If I'm held to the surface.

Then I would be creative,
I would work for my solace,
I am not without motive,
So pay attention and trace.

You cannot be dismissive,
Your mind is a fickle brace,
So sit, believe, be passive,
While I sell truths in lies' place.