My Son Need A Wife

My son has come of age,

He seeks a wife to call his own.

I will choose for him,

From the village we built,

From the family we know.

But my son has made his choice

A woman with long, flowing hair,

A woman from the forbidden line.

"You will regret this," I tell him,

"For we do not take from the outcasts."

She is Osu.

Her people have tilled our lands,

Fought our wars,

Carried our burdens,

Yet they remain outside our fold.

What will the gods say?

What will the sacred laws declare?

Odinani does not smile on such unions.

The earth will demand cleansing,

The spirits will turn their backs.

The Osu were given away,

A sacrifice to the gods,

Marked forever

Their blood unclean,

Their touch a curse.

They cannot pour libations,

They cannot call on the ancestors.

Their prayers do not rise,

Their hands cannot break kola.

And yet, my son loves her.

Should I defy the gods for love?

Should I stand before the council,

Knowing they will remind me

Of the laws we have lived by?

Can love wash away what is written?

Who will answer me?

Let us sit side by side,

As I still give my son a wife.