Kente is a metal forged in the riddles of the loom
Sold at the market of nine moons
Basic to the piano
Played on the eye.
The master weaver starts to dance
And loses himself in the dazing steps
“Kro-kro-kro and again pass it here, stick it here and over again”
Till the songbird stops, and the dancer is dropped from the realms of dreams.
Sold at the market of nine moons
Basic to the piano
Played on the eye.
I would not pay a bard to sing this riddle, lest he miss a line
Of the weaver’s cold dreams
Harvested from the starless sky of his roof
The bird of dreams perches and raises this song:
“Pass it here and stick it there
Kro-kro-kro w’ate?” (kro-kro-kro, have you heard?)
Then the helms water breaks
And cock calls his boast
Kokrokoo! Kokrokoo!
The master weaver starts to dance
And loses himself in the dazing steps
“Kro-kro-kro and again pass it here, stick it here and over again”
Till the songbird stops, and the dancer is dropped from the realms of dreams.
Kente is a metal that graces the victor’s shield
Whose story is yet to be ended from the beginning
The blood of the weaver
An African statement.
