In a tight clandestine circle they perch
Surreptitiously mumbling incantations
Mumbo-jumbo-abracadabra of a dead ancestor
Lips quiver, heads like geckos move in tandem
Rising and falling, rising and falling
Following some unwritten script
From afar, the bonfire rages on
Offals of a slaughtered black bull are broadcast
To the East where the sun rises, and to the West where ancestors sleep
More ala kazam, more rise and fall of head
Enfeebled men warble to charm the spirits
"Peace upon the land, if one of you, our forefathers
Is displeased, partake of this libation.
Hold back the rays of the sun against our bald heads
If you let showers, let them not fall like roofs of huts
If we plant sorghum, don't shame us with drought
If any one has offended you, we ask for forgiveness"
One old man reads the offals
Of topography and rivers, of lucks and dangers
Just like a palm-reader!
Atop the raging river, feet are washed
To cleanse the land. A rebirth.
C) Lorot Salem 2011
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Echoes of the Hills is all about you. I would love to hear your echo...