The tale of a Descendant

Some very cold nights I stay awake
Lights come flashing back to me
Such nights as cruel and heartless
Growing my mind from a needles eye
And the reason per say, trailing
The times gone in a sudden twinkle
And lives back again in another second
Like I traveled many miles back

Now I remember being the descendant
Of a thunder making rainmaker
Who when angry commands the winds
And lets the hamlet and farmlands flood

I was that hairy boy from the past
A son hewn out of my fathers sinews
During the days of the raid
When men sold men to slavery

I become the grandson of a great farmer
Who stalks yams and cocoyams in rows
Feeding the clan and the village
Bearing this rare title known to few

I had been a hunters son
Carrying the bags of my father
Marching across the forests and hills
Grinning and stalking a wounded antelope

I remember my grandfathers gun
The day I asked about him
And it was told, tales about him
The fall of North Africa
The fights, his courage
The dark days of the World War
The tank traps, the canons

I shudder, I ponder
And I realise how much I evolved…


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