Mama, I told you.
That stubborn Antho you beat gbaa gbaa
like Mr. Hilary the Tinker
beating pan to shape
has honored you beyond your grave
and beyond the borders of our land
to the edges of the world.
If you had beaten me to death,
who would YOU have called 'nnaa welcome'?
Who would have called you
Ochie Dike, nnem na nnam,
nwanyi ka nwoke?
That time I was begging you, Mama,
stop beating me like a condemned criminal.
I was only a small 'pikin, '
too active for my age.
Thank God we settled before you left.
You assured me it was for my good.
I forgave the gbaa gbaa therapy.
Ebube Agbala! Ugo gbuzuo Ochakee!
ODNNN!
Your Antho.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem