A century ago my father was never born
And my grandfather was perhaps a young man
Our great grandmothers must have worried endlessly
About the nature of your birth.

A product of amalgamation
You were not truly a freeman
Being in the grip of colonial masters
The missionaries held sway
And your cultural heritage slowly gave way.

Fifty-five years ago i was nowhere near the womb
My father was indeed a gentleman
Our grandmothers must have frolicked repeatedly
When eventually you were declared a freeman.

The euphoria of been free was soon shortlived
When as if they were bewitched
Your children rose against one another
Your once serene homestead turned to a battlefield
But that was never going to break you.

You definitely have seen it all- the ups and downs
I can tell by the streess-induced wrinkles on your face
And it baffles me how you have managed to keep your fragile bones together.