Mother's Calling Poem by McDonald Mbejere

I listen to drums played by my neighbor;
His tongue is different, but his tune;
His tune speaks to me.

It's one in the morning,
On my way to scold him
When his drum that resonates with the color of my skin.

I see my mother in the rhythm;
She's angry about my leaving home,
If it was knowledge I sought
Then why haven't I returned.

I bargain with the ghosts of my family,
Explaining things that don't matter to them;
Like the better economy, the better standards,
And my positing to support them;
'Did you not eat, dress and sleep here'.

My sound logic wavers as I leave the door,
And the drums burrow to my core,
I see the needs I never need
But I live slave to.

So am lingering of home as I near my neighbor’s drums
The energy in his beat is consistent
A true embodiment of my home,
Playing his drums by an open fire,
As I sit next to keep warm

He tells me of the hide his father gave him in Lagos;
The bark he sawed off by Darers lame;
And the threading weaved in Soweto,
A drum of distance lands but a drum of
Africa