Cattle Egret - Okot p' Bitek

My children gather stars

Into their soft songs

And woo the young moon

With their white teeth.

The moon kisses

My daughter's emerging breasts

And my son's dimples dimples.

I plead guilty

To pride

I was not born to this,

I am a great soul

My mother knows this

My uncle told me so

And my father was proud

Of me....

My children call me

Papa!

They run and fall into my arms,

They sing and dance for me

And they play games with me.

The testicle of the bell

Knocks hard against

His round thighs

And he screams in sharp pain.

Tired teachers wipe

The chalk dust

Off their faces

The school dam bursts

And floods of hungry children

Melt into their mother's bosoms.

My children

Not among them

My children do

Not go to school

My children will

Never go to school.

The teacher's cane

Will never touch

Their buttocks

They will grow up

With the wild trees

Of the bush

And will be burnt down

By wild fire

Of the droughts.

The proud cattle egret

Flourishes his long

And colourful tail

And dances between

Wives and chicks....

Look at my athletic thighs

My chest was broad

And without scar

My teeth were the

White okok birds

Standing on the back

Of a buffalo bull...

Have you heard me

Playing with the mother drum?

Have you seen me

In a dancing arena?

Cut off this rope.

Free my hands and feet

I want to clap my hands

And sing for my children

So that they may dance

I want to drum the wall

With my hands

I want to jump up

And dance....

Let me beat the rhythm

Of the orak dance

Let my wife shake

Her soft waist before me

And remind of our first meeting

At the dancing arena....

I want to join my hands

At the "get-stuck dance"

I want to suck the stiff breasts

Of my wife's younger sister

I want to wrestle with

With my wife-in-law

And crush the grass

Beyond the arena....

Is today not my father's

Funeral anniversary?

My clansmen and clanswomen

Are gathering in our village

They sit in circles

In the shape of grenaries

But who will make

The welcome speech?

Men drunk with kwete bee

Women cook goat meat

And make millet bread

But I am not here

To distribute the dishes

Among the dishes!

The priests throw morsels

Of chicken meat

They squirt goat blood

And pour libations

To the assembled ghosts

Of the dead

But how can I address

The ghosts of my fathers

From here?

How can they put chimes

On my chest and back?

How can my grandmother

Spit blessing on me?

My age-mates have donned

White ostrich feathers

They are singing a war song

I want to join them

In the wilderness

And chase Death away

From village

Drive them a thousand miles

In the west

Let him sink down

With the setting sun

And never rise again?

I want to join

The funeral dancers

I want to tread the earth

With a vengeance

And shake the bones

Of my father in his grave!

---

Okot p' Bitek (1931 - 1982) Uganda

Source: AllPoetry