Listen to the voices of your conscience
To the voices hewn to the strings of your heart
The drum player from across the forested hills
Beats the rhythm, that searches the mind
And asks many questions,
On a cloudy evening
During the time of the Harmattan
Comes a drummer, followed by a flute
And when the little village hears
All strives to listen
From the farms tucked away in dangerous forests
To the little children playing on the sands of the hamlet
The wine tapper on the tree top
And the young women weeding the hamlets garden
All listens to the unworded call

Remember your debt as agreed
Do not steal the Kings cattle
Don’t sell any man to another
And don’t keep your heart full of grudges

To your hearts plea for righteousness
Never to be biased, but to seek justice
Do you hear the drums playing?
Listen and pay heed

I wrote a colonial African drama- Am Listening. Staged in the time colonists came to Africa, and the tale of two royal clowns who ended up selling off the Kings son to a White man.  I hope to publish the drama soon.

Oiroegbu Halls


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