Give me black souls,

Let them be black

Or chocolate brown

Or make them the

Colour of dust—

Dustlike,

Browner than sand.

But if you can

Please keep them black,

Black.

Give me some drums;

Let them be three

Or may be four

And make them black—

Dirty and black:

Of wood,

And dried sheepskin,

But if you will

Just make them peal,

Peal.

Peal loud,

Mutter.

Loud,

Louder yet:

Then soft,

Softer still

Let the drums peal.

Let the calabash

Entwined with beads

With blue Aggrey beads.

Resound, wildly

Discordant,

Calmly

Melodious.

Let the calabash resound

In tune with the drums.

Mingle with these sounds

The clang

Of wood on tin:

Kententsekenken

Ken—tse ken ken ken:

Do give me voices

Ordinary

Ghost voices

Voices of women

And the bass

Of men.

(And screaming babes?)

Let there be dancers,

Broad-shouldered negroes

Stamping the ground

With naked feet

And half-covered

Women

Swaying, to and fro,

In perfect

Rhythm

To ‘Tom shikishshiki’

And ‘Ken’,

And voices of ghosts

Singing,

Singing!

Let there be

A setting sun above,

Green palms

Around,

A slaughtered fowl

And plenty of

Yams.

And dear Lord,

If the place be

Not too full,

Please

Admit spectators.

They may be

White or

Black.

Admit spectators

That they may

See:

The bleeding fowl,

And yams,

And palms,

And dancing ghosts.

?domankoma,

Do admit spectators

That they may

Hear:

Our native songs,

The clang of woods on tin

The tune of beads

And the pealing drums.

Twerampon please, please

Admit

Spectators!

That they may

Bask

In the balmy rays

Of the

Evening Sun,

In our lovely

African heaven!