The Warrior’s Drum - Poem by Francis Ohanyido
I have heard it told
I have heard it said
Many times, in many folktales of old
That there was in ancient days
The drum of drums.
From where did the drum come?
Not even the most ancient and wizened
Of men could say for sure.
But it is believed that even before seasoned
Warriors wore loin-cloths and scabbard machetes
The drum existed.
The drum was only beaten
With war chants renting the air
It was an instrument of spells
And was beaten by the gentlest of men
With stringed tinkling bells
Wound round his legs
It was never beaten in anger
But throbbed in the sight of danger.
It readied the brave and strengthened
The weakest of men to do battle
By setting their blood to boil
In mystic rhythms, in their veins.
Many an enemy warrior was entranced
By the spell-binding beats
-And with weakened hearts
-And with marred courage
They were felled to the [[earth]]
Never again to dance to the music of warriors,
It was the mystery of bravery betrayed.
And so many villages fell………..
There is this beautiful old drum
That I have seen several times
In my grandpa’s inner room
He talks to it like a friend
And I’ve never seen him beat it.
It looks exactly like the drum of the tales
Maybe someday I would beat it
-without anger, and gently
And see what it will feel like.
Do you suppose it’s the same drum?
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