POETRY FOR U Gh

Dekwo, Do not be baffled Do not baffled once again, To hear me pry of our tradition. For what I know as a heritage is now being threatened by a foreign tradition. Dekwo, you sent me to learn the ways of the stranger, but our ways, oh! Our ways is being threatened by this invader. His teachings ; his language and his worship he deems is superior. He says our ways, our deity ; as a worship is achaic, ancient and inferior. He says, our tradition : pass down from our forefathers, pass down to your fathers, pass down to you and now, to be pass on to me. He says, is a foil of a relentless toil. He says, To redeem us, To redeem us, His, is our salvation. To me this abomination he sputts has effected and has initiated it's roots deep down our soil. Since many son of the motherland are seriously learning his ways. Speaking as a matter of fact, I'm being brainwashed and now, I find myself confused, in a dilemma ; not knowing where my trust lies. Believing in my traditi...

Nyaaba ooo! Nyaaba! Hear me as I call Hear me, hear the plea of thy sons before thy knee. For the rains have started, but our harvest, you know; has never been mild And it's still long due, yet our fears so long over the years is due again. We employ thee We employ thee to hear us : Let the coming of the rains bring Peace Let the thundering spare our walls Let the storms bring us with naught And let the call for the sow  bring bounty. Nyaaba ooo! Take... Take... Take... And let your anger be sated. Let our journey be fair as we leave your bosom. Once again hear our plea and remember, now the cock crows only when it's crop is full.

The master's vine yard, our land  The land of the vine Come ye all who Labour in the vineyard  Come o ye labourers of the vine  And plough for it has rain  Labour... Labour... Labour...  Labour for the master of the vine  Labour for the master of the vineyard Labour... Labour... Labour...  Labour, for he cometh and announceth not  Labour for thy wages are at hand  Loiter not for thy wages are at hand Come... Come... Come...  Ye all who Labour for the master  Ye all who Labour in the vine  Go ye not to rest, sleep nor dine  For thy wages shall be rewarded for 'e yield, of thy vine Come... Come... Come...  Come o ye labourers of the vineyard  Come, o ye labourers of the vine  And make hay Whiles the sun shines