The first human voice was African.
Divine essence grew a tongue,
wagging with fricatives and open syllables.
The telling tongue walked out of a Great Rift Valley carrying its necessary words:
mama
matiti
mfupa
imbwa
It gathered more words to embellish necessary ones:
mungu
cheza
ndio
Listen
In our mother tongues live all the dawning conversations.
Confabs with
wind and rain,
storm and fire,
bugs, birds, beasts,
tall grasses and trees.
The same conversations curl beneath our modern breath,
ready to feed the heart to hearts,
we need to remember how to have again.
All those words even now
fill a loom with the weft and the weave
of desire vision
duty love.
When words fly into space and look down,
they watch a spreading web of lights
and
they call it
blanketi la njaa duniani
Earth's hungry blanket,
edges fraying mungu imbwa
cheza mfupa
ndio matiti mama.
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