OBATALA, THE CREATOR

[Tyehimba]

OBATALA, THE CREATOR

He is patient.
He is silent.
Without anger he pronounces his judgement
He is distant,
but his eye rests on the town.
He kills the initiate
and rouses him to a new life.
He is playful like death
he carries the child away.
He rides the hunchback,
he spreads out his arms
the right and the left.
He stands by his children,
he lets them succeed.
He makes them laugh—
and they laugh.
You, father of laughter,
your eye is laughing.
Immense granary of the sky.
Old man with the strength of youth,
you rest in the sky like a swarm of bees.
The rich owe their riches to you.
The poor owe their poverty to you.
You take form the rich and give to the poor.
Take then from the rich and give to me.
Obatala:
you turn blood into children
come and create the child in my own belly.
I own but a single cloth to dye with indigo.

African poem
author unknown

[Oshun_Auset]

That was nice.