The Dream

a poem by Nkwelle Assurance Nkwelle, Cameroon

Ngoe, son of the great warrior, my hero,
Where are you? Where are you my son?

You said you will lead me home, to me glory, but now I'm here, in this desert,
This deserted land. Where are you, Ngoe?

How could you have let me sleep for long,
That long? My yearning heart, your touch
Hopes to feel. I still need the songs you sang. The hilarious announcements.

When you came to us, we embraced you.
After our marriage, you became a strange
bed fellow. You complain that my nose is
like a pig's and I can't cook.

Are you sure you were not the plunderer?
Where is my son of promise, Ngoe, tell me? Where is the lion man, the thunder that sent all into sleep?

My hero, we have not known good cloths since you came. No work, no food. Rags
and moans and blood we have known since you came. Where is our history?
Where is our home and person?

Beggars, we have become, like paupers we sleep on mats and you revel?
Son, you don't get it. We perish but perish you will when the dust shall settle.

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