LOST FOLK

Picture courtesy www.examiner.com


It was many years ago,
We lay in mud huts
And found peace on
Straw mats.


It was many years ago,
We gyrated in the market
Square
Half-naked, half-mad
To the sound of talking drums.


It was many years ago,
We drunk from calabashes
And ate heartily out of corn
Husks with our fingers out in the open.


We now drink orange juice
Without the orange fruit
And forget the countrysides
Which are the nurseries that
Gave birth to us.


We now dance with little
Meaning to sounds from
Mute drums,
With neither soul nor spirit,
Overcooked, overhyped and
Oversold tunes.


These are the days of the
Modern folk,
Struggling to embrace what
They’ve become and wondering
Where they came from.


The land thirsts for music
That quenches thirst,
The air is rife with perfume
That irks the nose,
The mountains look on
Bemused and ask,
Where did the natives go?