Amidst things falling apart you have departed,
Father
Your eye that has found language
in words
has dwelled on this world
for the last time
and, closed now, it shall sing to spirits
of visions once beheld
Your children who shall now see you
in dreams
weep for you,
Master linguist,
Linguist of linguists,
the drums cry out in condolence
For the last time, in their resonance, your name shall resound
and the chiefs pay their tribute,
and the children of all
generations born and
unborn
Achebe!
We salute you
on the path that crosses the stream,
the path that was cut out
long ago
when the Creator made things
when the first drum resounded
in memory of the heart beat
from which were cut both
path and stream
The soul of him
who once was you
returns
into its own realm
to be eternity's linguist
Our laments, our praises
accompany it
on its way,
Master linguist,
Linguist of linguists
In the colour of blood,
In the soul's colour I keep wake:
Damirifa
duwe duwe!
Damirifa
duwe!
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