Orature Class

(To the woman lecturer) I gaze at you, an English goddess In melanin skin. Twisting words, I strain to follow Your accent eludes me, I'm lost! Little learned, I dare not mimic. When you said, "...Or should I speak like African?" My head spinned, the world turned. But you're black! You say "jonra", but my tongue stuck to "genri" Though I spell it g_e_n_r_e Your English makes me blush Hush! Don't say..., I can't keep up. Give me the text, I'll study. Your calm tone belies bombastic grammar. If I use your tongue for moonlit folklore Children will not understand a thing of it, Elders will scoff... "What a generation with boring stories" No, I'll keep listening, ears near To your tongue-twists, battling to capture. Tell me you're giving us text, not oral I'm just a local in orature class You'd say, "You're here to learn" True, I strive for your eloquence, Your sharpness of sentence, Not your accent. But one day, my tongue will twist more Maybe I'll pronounce it "'em orature student" And wow my peers! © fenan ponfa (Edited by _Philip Adamu_)