Sounds of our Fathers

Like a leaf in harmattan winds
They would stir at the cock's cry
Like Sango on a bloody war field
They would sway to the ancient beats of the cold breeze
Frail bodies but strong minds; weathering the storm

The steps of our fathers marching to the farmstead
All for hard work and nought for laziness
The rhythm of the hoe striking the pliant earth
The earth of their fathers before them
The earth of their children to come

The rhythm of the steady snore after a long day's work
Hardwork... The pride of our fathers
The Happy sounds of children on the farm, harvesting yam
The results of our fathers' labours
......
Slowly, almost deliberately, the sounds of our Fathers faded away
....
Now there is no yam to harvest
Now the earth is hard and unyielding
And the labours of our fathers
And their fathers before them
Seem to be in vain