In those days –
days I cannot ev’n recollect the year –
when things were alright and okay,
when death was sparily heard of;
when children were fed okay,
and kinsmen work’d for kinsmen
like ants working in a summer day,
fath’rs would send their childr’n to their kinsmen
living in a far away land –
they would go with their hand fill’d with bush meat;
on their way, they would play and play
till they were tired of playing;
then they would return to that place
where they had left their bush meat to play,
and they would find it there, untouch’d.
In those days,
fath’rs would teach their childr’n so many tales;
childr’n would learn to farm;
they know their adds and minus, unhelp’d;
they were also train’d for war;
their gifts were skillfully fram’d by their Chineke.
But now, when those fath’rs have gone,
we no long’r care for our tales;
childr’n respect no more their parents;
they no more do thing on their own,
for robots have taking the places of hands;
kinsmen refuse to work for kinsmen,
for greed and jealousy are now the ord’r of the day;
broth’rs steal broth’rs’ meat;
fath’rs no ev’n fit send their childr’n to school
for the whites have brought thiefilization,
and our traditions have fall’n apart.
Eche Ononukwe
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/things-have-fall-n-apart/