Let The Drum Speak Poem by John Chizoba Vincent

LET THE DRUM SPEAK

Go to heaven before the heavens goes to hell,
Going home from home is dangerous with a child.
To the cold virgin earth shall woven sleep be
Taken out from the children' eyes early.
Who shall guide the unkillable clarion of the drum?
Who shall seize his voice when he begins talking?
When he raise his voice, the women go naked.


Let the drum speak in the public,
Hold not his hand of forest trees
His legs shall dance to the tone of
His heart beat in the middle of the men.
Let the drum speak and don't quanch his voice
Let him speak of the unpaid salaries in the communities the bussh that was set on fire and the
Vegetable killed.
He is our voice, the talkative face of the drum
Shall shut their eyes and mouth forever.


Listen, my hurtful people of the eastern barns,
We have been killed, without a sword.
I once asked of pounded yam and given stone
By the people who once danced with us in the
Same field where troubles are stored for tomorrow feast.
Now, I beat, dance, and sing along in the village square, they have treated me like a baby goat who
Thinks he has come to free world.

They have taken my yam and fish
And gives me hard bread in return.
In the season of my song have they disvirgined
All the girls in my village.
I asked for a wife and my In-law give me a husband
Beater, now I dance alone.
My in-laws have eaten tomorrow' yam today,
This bread in my throat I must tie again;
For life pains must be hidden for tomorrow' child.
Do not look with stony eyes for my trouble is yet to come.

Yesterday, reaching the market place,
My hands abd head were aching and complaining.
I went to the king' palace, the sun is a witness to my
Coming and he smiled.
I asked for bread but the king chased me away,
The moon is witness to my leaving.
Before the sun hears the first cock crows,
I was in the square again singing the king' deeds.


I go to the house of the man who has
Many yams in his barn hoping to be welcomed,
But they chased me away because I was poor.
Poverty is honour to a man who has it whilst
Riches is gold till those who come by it.
I complain not but keeps dancing, hoping that
One day I shall be gold and wisdom shall
Not corrupt me in the barn of my enemy.

They rejected me and I don't reject myself,
I shall speak again with the same voice,
Someday in the square of thousand men.
Then shall I know not hunger which the king
Refused to chase away in their time
Then the politicians shall not come to my dwelling
With their sugar coated tongue to deceeive me.