Until The Birth Of Civilisation Poem by Melody Thaila Kuku

Thatches hug one another in hot union.
Locks of hair hang loose on the sides. The scent of its earth sweat, fills my nostrils.

The smell of earth, so sweet an aroma. And i salivate.
Home of my ancestors, Dwelling place of my forefathers.


Í sit at the 'Ate' beside the burning fire. And i dreamed,
I dream of baskets filled with yams,
And women grinding corn in the sun.


I see strangers passing by,
And elders with clothes draped over their Shoulders invite them in,
My ears are fill with the pounding of yams.


Not yet polluted by civilisation,
But very soon it will disappear.
My Tiv hóme in the heart of nature.
And there will be no 'Ate'.


When the thatches gíve way to zincs, And the basket overflows with commercial meal, Meal that chokes mortal system.


When the farm paths have been cleared, And tractors overthrow the reign of hoes, And there will be nó burning fire to warm the cold.

Then the thatches, 'Ates' and burning fires,
Will disappear into history books along with our forefathers,
And men will read and say they knew our culture.

Till then i will drink in the beauty of the ancient land,
And the ancient arts that define our hospitability, I will warm my cold soul in the fire of our heritage.

Till our names be heard in the news,
And the sun rise on our mountains, And our world be revealed to men,
Our world hidden in the beautiful shadows of the past.


Till our land give birth tó the newneness of development.
Till civilisation be born.