My father has his tongue
On what he wears
I grew up to know him on trousers and tin shirts
With a belt of an iron head, silver or gold
Beautiful designs, all on shoes
That proclaimed western gods,
a hilly bully that fake him taller.
How time flies,
He wears ‘buba' now
Covered with ‘agbada'
Made of same fabric or not
Same colour or mixed,
But on pleasure-fit
Pairs of low hill shoes
And adorn it with a cap
while a bead rest pleasurely
around his neck, to match.
I pleaded with him:
Sir, you could inter-wear the former code of dresses
and the latter
He shook his head in disapproval
And I said 'wearing shirts and trousers
Makes smart of you'
I had pressed further,
'No way! ' He said
I asked why?
'They are not ours,
All are remnants of slavery modernized
Things of the past.
They are sold to us, good
We too have a good products to offer for sale'.
He concluded.
This is a good effort. Very apt in transforming experience into literary work.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i had to look up the word ephemera, AND read the poem again. i found agbada online but i doubt i found the definition of buba that you meant! ! ! (i looked up buba and bubba) i'm not familiar with some of the expressions you used, like a hilly bully that fake him taller [do you mean to write fake or make i wonder], and has his tongue, but i get the picture you are painting of a father who has returned to traditional african clothing and refuses to compromise with his son on his wardrobe choices. thanks for sharing.