The Drum And Horn Poem by Wilson Tinotenda Waison

My intimates you mocked
And stormed my spirits
Ruled me with an iron spectre
Destroyed my shrine only to
Spare the drum and the horn.
Now I beat the drum so stiff
Blowing the horn so robust
To echo my distress and misery.
Told my rituals are evil
Yet his do work for him only and
Me they do enslave and yokes,
Damned be his gods for mine he
Mocks and his lures me into submission.
Arise the son of soil, with your
Gaze full of my black blood
To resist the adversity and recuperate
Your own liberties he thwarted.
Let my drum and horn rise
Discordant on his behalf,
Offensive to his shell yet
The deed to post a smile to
My face, to dismantle his yoke.
Justice be framed till then
Peace shall prevail and the
Global village attain stability
Mine drum and horn to blend
With his melodies and unite
The breached intimate relations,
Let the tables turn, do exult.