to name a child, you consider the ancestral–lineage—the image
of the home he’s birthed–in. but the home i’m supposed to claim
is already filled with the stench of rebellious plots—a lineage
of rivalry is a lineage of war. i-am-greater-than-you-are-
no-you-are-not have made the home empty of blessedness.
a home void of appraisal—of panegyric to be proud of.
look at how the frontiers have sullied the family–name.
look at how they have desecrated the totem of our honour.
forgetting that a good name is worth more than gold & silver.
the oníyangí have smeared the white garment of the coming
generation with palm oil. the name—once dignified—
is now a name to be beware of—like an attire of disgrace.
like a cesspool of shame. because the wattle of unity is broken.
because a house built with spittle will be destroyed
by the morning dew. a lineage of rivalry is a lineage of war,
and my half–bloods are brewing a blood–bath.
home becomes ajere—discordance—fuelled by sorghum–gin.
tell me—with these imageries—what do i name the child?
what good name is there to name the child
if i look at the ancestry and find nothing but a slaughterhouse?