Voices racked my being
As fire shot upward into the sky
From the burning huts.
Broken lips and limbs
I looked at the chaos around me
The bright orange bamboo huts,
Flesh singed by fire
Screams from every lip
As our cherished land stood in the glorious flame.
Echoes shook my insides
As I lay breathless on the brown earth
In hope that the gods would rise again
Whimpering lips, bloodied eyes.
Màmá’s words rang in my ears
Like the sculptured giant at Oja Ale
“What do you do when the pot breaks,
Leave it broken?”
I sighed heavily as tears mixed with blood
And began to roll down my singed face.
Our land is broken,
What shall be done?
Leave it broken?