On my way to 300l
We were crazy In the head
Just to surf the languages of the globe
The tounge of my mother never ended with acute, macron or grave,
Ṣàngó and Èṣù where living gods in thier stories.
On my way to 300l
We became snakes
Hissing sibilants and fricatives
In classes schools and rooms
We knew sounds too had voices.
On my way to 300l
Languages had customs and traditions
It could be dead, it could live
Language had attitudes; hausa altitudes
On my way to 300l
*Christiana* became a puzzle unsolved,
We planted trees that never grew leaves
Trees that never grows to the sky
But aims towards the grave
On my way to 300l
Writing was a great system known to short woman,
We become group of authors publishing books in my mother tongue,
Her sister Dialects rolled in
in manners revealed only to scholars.
On my way to 300l
I made money
hired and fired employees on a piece of papyrus
On my way to 300l
Wish to become an ancestor vanishes
For i have the bloods of nine virgin on my hands
On my way to 300l
I had friends in analogous environment
And friends distributed complimentarily
On my way to 300l
Powers was vested on advisers
C cease to be for Cat
D was no longer for Dog
On my way to 300l
Advisors become adversaries
The swift loosing the race
On my way to 300l
Call me a scholar
And be extinct as Coptic did.
By Emmanuel Damilare Fatoyinbo
AFREPORTER 