Echoes From Idoto

From the call of the coucal,
to the mournful whispers of my kin,
the roots of Idoto stir within me.

From woods thousands of miles away,
from the green-carpeted paths of home,
I hear the cries:
one, a call to order,
the other, a chorus steeped in sweet disorder.

In one land I sojourn,
a stranger among its rhythms.
In the other, I am son and heir,
bound by soil, by water, by blood,
yet kept far by time and tide.

When shall I tread
the red earth again?
When shall the river
mirror my face at dusk?

When shall I be home?

Ekenweofia, I feel your longing for home.
Akudinofia feels it deeply -
That orderliness will be restored
And we fish together on the banks of Idoto: someday,
In the nakedness of our childhood innocence.