When the bushes of our black mother. <br />Lay uncut, <br />And we waddled about with newly weaned feet. <br />A hand sweated with a ferocious pen, <br />Wisdom was written, <br />One that wore colours of different flags, <br />As time flew by. <br /> <br /> <br />With the lips of the pen, <br />He spoke words that slashed at the backward bushes, <br />Surrounding our green and white mother. <br />A sword borne from the womb of the muse, <br />A sword that glittered, <br />In the midst of great water. <br /> <br />And yes men say, <br />The words so great from a man so small. <br />And as time raced by, <br />The beautiful ones were born, <br />And each a nod gave, <br />To one whose pen prophesied. <br /> <br />But then Fate's wind blew, <br />In winged arms, <br />His soul flew, <br />Leaving memories of a mind, <br />That left prints on life's shore. <br />Adieu I'll say, <br />But you, i and all know, <br />Adieu is too short a goodbye.<br /><br />Melody Kuku<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-tribute-to-chinua-achebe/
