Where is our traditional attire?

We've pressed the face of our attire into the soil of sorrow

Where air whispers and the wind sing in sonorous tragedy

Making the naked home weep terribly of strange dress from the other side

Nurturing execrable changes in the beautiful traditions we once held

Our legs were quick to their land, our eyes hungered for their suit

We wanted to make our black, white, feeding our ears with the learned voice

Then we returned to our home with tattered rags, barely concealing our flesh

We threw their white into the stream and happily decorated our home with black

One evening while we watched the moon smile at the sleeping sun

My mother's eyes kissed mine and brought a world closer to my ears

'The attire of our home once glittered with crown and scepter' She said

When palms and cutlass spoke the same dialect

The world of my mother appeared like a star

And my pen became pregnant with words

To vomit the pain trapped in my tender heart

Oh! The world I met is the dress of sky when cockerels crow

Children's palms are no more forbidden from the cheeks of those

Who welcomed them from the unknown world

The voice they once knew walk to their ears with strange noise

We have made our legs forbidden to the path our fathers were shown at birth

And the footsteps peep from the underworld in anguish

To we children of this beautiful home!

Let us call the heart of our attire from her whimpering ground

And say no more to our fathers that their days were dark

For it rained amity and solemnness on the land of the nobles.