Ancestor Poem by Shelton Chiuswa

Galloping sounds of the drumbeat echo over the ravine,
The wind whistles in haste urging on the medium to appear,
Distant cries unknown magnetize the courtyard into a mystic dance,
The drummer pounces faster as his rhythm is embodied with that of the leaves and Mopane trees.

A deep soft growl grows loader into a roar as the courtyard becomes the epicenter,
Calmly he smiles as he smiles develops to a grin,
Like a catapult, he shoots himself in dance with the wind,
Ululations blockade all sound as even the drummer dives into the never world no longer among

A distant choir of leg rattles sips through the impregnable air of sound,
Dripping sweat glides through the naked skin of the drummer,
Bloodshot with a vigor not of the ancestor's song but as a vessel that the tradition resides,

Like a whirlpool, he glides among in the courtyard,
No one mistakes his movements but assertions that the hunter has come.
His movements rhythmic as that of a hunter in combat with lions,
Like a leaf, he glides in mid-air and tosses himself for he is now among the ancestors,
Between the realms here and beyond he resides

Suddenly a deathly silence engulfs the courtyard,
Over the ravine, in the dark of night, the king roars the courtyard into a silence,
His murmurs low foretelling and telling the herdmen the needs of the ancestor,
He transcends from the outer realm to this bout of energy in a flash to the roaring lion.
With great vigor and energy, the drummer electrifies the courtyard with echoes of sound and the rattlers slowly disappear into the thick dense night.