For Fela

Olufela Olusegun Oludotun Ransome-Kuti;

That was the name your parents

Stapled on your forehead

 like clips holding fast to a napkin on the wire,

Your visual identity

It’s sad your breath left before ours came

Leaving our ears to tales of you and your music.

We still listen to your songs;

We loop your voice until it pats our sun lashed backs to sleep,

We regurgitate your lyrics like the sun does itself every morning

And yes we still dance to them,

As feet take turns to introduce themselves

and the bodies they belong to

You are the true hero;

The dauntless crusader,

And your song was a transcript of reality

The very one we live in

Umpteen times father would play your record

On the old turn table

And though we were cradle,

We could still connect to your voice until

you became a home culture

The years have sped past,

Father joins you beyond

and we still keep the ritual,

It keeps his spirit close to us

The fort that holds home in the absence of his presence.