from the fount of Fiditi
whose only son is Timi
A son with many parts
Never will the tag timidity
stick as his identity
As Baba Fiditi carries himself
with dignity
so shall his igi-iwe son
dig deeper into customs
that transforms those in want
and those wanted for standing up
when oil ‘pan-caked’ the soil
and turned the face of earth
into a frying pan
Stick together and you will find
a coalition of like minds
that will not give codeine
when cups of garri will cure hurt.
Timi, push me into huts of peasants
where hope is the alter laid
for the coming victory
like the Pope as sentry at heaven’s gate
Timi, push me till the deity of timidity
becomes the sacrifice at oritameta
and workers, farmers, writers, fishers, sellers
Prisoners, cobblers, pushers, butchers
reclaim their collective voice in the
new history of bold types.
The Slave Union and Union of Slaves
must be traded for brave Trade Unions
with words, swords and sickles
No more fickle minded minions
who bark by day and back out by night.
Tell Timi the time is right
to give the landlords a fight.
End of a people's timidity can only be now!
Sing this song in the mid-day Sun
Sling the catapult for assault if that's
all you've got
Sing, dance, cry, shout... don't
just wait for Timi
© Kole Ade-Odutola
- Used with permission
- Image courtesy of the poet