Who am I ?
A compound of Oyo-Empire
I’m creole not pidgin.
Phonetically beautiful are
my sons and daughters.
Phylogenetically
descendants of Yoruba;
Oduduwa the ancestor.
I rose from the root of
diaspora, a fugitive to your
eyes, touch, and nose.
I have been, and remain still.
Still through the remnants of time
I have been; been everywhere,
over the Atlantic in a vessel
as I remain untouched.
Untouched by the
roughness of the sea nor by the
burden of turmoil on the
cotton field.
They swallowed in hope to
digest like Jonah and the whale,
but you revolted sour in their
mouth; burnt their tongue, scald
their gum, and turn their teeth black.
I play on your tongue, so they’ll
recognise you as one; the
curator, the voice in your head,
your tongue the judiciary
advocate.
