I love my land
where the heart welcomes the lungs
and the lungs embrace the heart
where the eyes glister when the lips smile
and the nose runs when the eyes weep
where the kinsmen like lobes of the kolanut
cling like otters and huddle like penguins;
I love my land
where the okra plant
never outgrows the planter
and the tail even of the Irish wolfhound
is never seen wagging the dog
where both king and pauper
before the throne of the kinsmen bow;
I love my land
where the deeds of all
lie scriven on the unseen scrolls
and stand naked before the kinsmen
where the chastening rod
administered on the commoner
is kept handy for the errant lord;
I love my land
where the assembly of the kinsmen
scrub the loin cloth of the unkempt
and scrape tartar off the teeth of deviants
where the solidarity of the kinsmen
is the fortress of the oppressed
and their plaudits the plumage of the mighty;
I love my native land
where rays from the fortunes of one
like moonbeams radiate for all
where the father sires the child
and the kinsmen own the child
where the child rears the rooster
and the kinsmen reap his voice;
I love the land of my ancestors
the land that bred the men
with ingrained aversion to chains
who rest unbound in the bed of Dunbar Creek
the land that so forges her breed
they walk through the flames
and still stand towering like the eucalyptus;
I love Igbo land
the land from where the sun rises
ever yellow and lambent
even amid louring skies
the land beneath which my navel string lies
the land in whose bowels my bones will rest
I so love Igbo land.
