The wail from our ancestors

The ancestor is
in the Market square
he told us stories
of the happiness in heaven
We tell him
we don't need
the sacrifices of
goats and chalk
the ancestor in
the masquerade garb
laments our denial
from the ways
of our forefathers.
We tell him
we don't need
the long walk
To the stream
Pots balanced neatly
On corn-rows of beauty
The 'jigida' beads of
Our waists
We changed for the
Belts in our skirts
Our simple graceful walk
We exchanged for
Tortured struts of haste
The ancestor wonders
At the noise of our fears
Why we barricade our hopes
In ten foot walls from
The wails of our brothers
We tell him
The hunters have changed
The bows and arrows
To guns and bombs
We chased the darkness
And fears by
Pinching the walls of our fortresses
The ancestor wonders
Why there is hate in
Our midst knowing us as
Brothers of a clime
The ancestor cautions
That our haste
To taste unripe fruit
Wets the ancestral floor
With the blood of our kin
We tell him
When we changed the beds
From the raffia at home
We changed our souls
To the foul stench of unknown
We tell him
We have taken
The full potion of doubtful
Civilization, drunk full draught
The potent broth of it
Now we stagger round
Looking for help
From the ancestors
In the empty market square!