Oh, hear the rhythm of the drums,

The constant beat of coarsened palms

On tightened skins stretched taut and firm,

Held into place with *rimpie skeins.

Oh, hear the beating of the drums,

The village people clap and stamp the ground,

With rhythmic feet and inhibitions unbound,

Musky bodies in dance movement all around.

Oh, hear the rolling of the drums,

The tribe’s vocal chant of ballads past,

Repeating victories of ancient battles won and lost,

They move synchronised with skin gleaming black.

Oh, hear the pulsating of the drums,

The hiss of banked fires casting reflections of red hue,

Upon animated faces of tribe Elders half lost to view,

In recessed shadows they sing and sinuously sway.

Oh, hear the rattling of the witch-doctor’s *calabash,

His head back in trance, arms stretched to the sky,

Calling to the African spirit fathers of the gathered tribe,

To join with the living to hear the beating of the drums.

*rimpie –     leather strips/animal gut.

*calabash – gourd with hard outer skin.

Susan Cook-Jahme© Copyright 2004