You are there

Before the light uncovers its head or turns on the bed of dawn

Before the earliest hunter whistles to game or to chance

Before the cock crows to announce the glimpse of day,

You are there,

Kneeling,

Whispering resounding prayers to Olodumare for all

Fanning the faggots to fire amidst the tripod stand

Scrubbing feet’s ill-drawn patterns on your tiles.

When the lights have made their escapes from the pots of morn

When vibrant morning has spread its chiffon on the lines of the sky

When hustling and bustling crowds out nature’s rhythms and voices

You are there,

Bending,

Making the last tuck of the little one’s shirts

Picking lunches packed and ready for leave

Battling armies of dust invading the territories of your chairs and doors

As the golden pot spills and mixes with the day’s azure treasures

As the hot sun laughs, thumping the middle of the head

As the strongest farmer is forced to retire for the day’s job well done

You are there,

Standing,

Doing dishes of your king and kids and kin

Curbing a further weave of the spider’s textile at corners

Spreading the laundry rescued from the grips of oils and dirt.

When the dusk stands to prepare for the journey to the east

When the croaky choristers form in the river reeds

When the elders settle at village square for talks that fear daylights

You are there,

Bending,

Sweeping off the remnants of the soup of grass and sand

Arranging pepper, pots and plates for the break of fast

Sorting the baskets of dirty and not-so-dirty

After the fall has long bid the day bye

After the moon decides a meeting with the stars or not

After streams lull and rest from the many pangs and throbs of men

You are there,

Kneeling,

Singing the loveliest lullaby to shut my eyes

Covering my feet with the blankets of love and warmth

Saying sincere prayers for my morrow and the day after and the day after…