The Land of My Father || poem

The land of my father
The land of waters
Flowing on ores and oils
Full of oysters and okro
Burning of bamboos
Plucked by mangrove giant's

Land of my father
A fish marsh soup
In thatch standing on water,
A fern-matched bed
In raffia palms
On waters of clan
Waters of home and homilies

Of my father
Lost memories of Fiona and fauna
Floating on sleeping and serene seas
Forgone memories of flavor of
Great fishers and fishes
In friendship flanks found
Memories lost and gone
Of gunners in mangrove forests
Of antelopes and squirrels

Fathers
You will miss the naive days
Now have dredges won deaths
Now have structures stood on seas
Now have kids killed sages, turning kings
Now have pure airs turned bad breath
Have peaceful waters turned polluted killers
Fathers, you surely miss these.