Tell Àwẹ̀ró child of the water lily, child of the squirrel
that am no longer a sojourner, but a witty man
craving for love. Her ìbàdí yearning to see,
tell Àwẹ̀ró that I met her forebears at Igbó Olodumare
where spirits in their rhythmic voices hoot like an owl,
tell her the gurgling drum of Àyàn is telling us
there’s hope, & the dulcet song of the Seven Life composer
is telling us grief can’t last forever. Tell Àwẹ̀ró that
her skin is made of seven colours, & her hairdo
is plaited by the angels of the sea.
Tell Àwẹ̀ró, descendants of Oníkòyí
that her forebears plant heads not tubers,
tell her, that her elegance look lurch lad to coward,
tell Àwẹ̀ró that the trees flutter when she’s passing,
tell Àwẹ̀ró that I’ll be back from Ogun Ijaye
where I fought Kurunmi with a rod,
tell Àwẹ̀ró that am the blue Peter in the sea
coming home at dusk, with a befitting crown.
AbdulAhmeed Adesigbin