Do Not Take Us, Keepers of the Deep

Toyin Falola

O Mothers of the River,

Osun, Yemoja, Oya, Nommo

Ancient Ones who braid the currents with memory,
Who wear the moon as a calabash upon our brows,
And speak in ripples older than iron and fire—
We come not as trespassers,
But as children who have forgotten the language of water.

O Spirits of the Deep—
You who dwell beneath the quiet skin of lakes,
Where silence hums like a sacred drum,
Where the bones of time rest unbroken—
We call your names in trembling reverence:

Mami of the mirrored face,
Yemoja of the swelling tide,
Nommo of the living word,
Guardians unseen, yet always knowing.

If we have stepped where we should have knelt,
If our feet have muddied your clear wisdom,
If our nets have torn more than they should,
Forgive us.
For we are a restless people,
Learning slowly how to belong again.

Do not pull us beneath your breathing worlds,
Do not wrap us in your cool, endless embrace—
For though your depths are beautiful,
We are not yet ready to become stories told in foam.

Let your waters teach us, not take us.
Let your currents guide us, not claim us.
Let your whispers correct us, not silence us.

O Mothers of Rain and River,
Accept our offerings of song and careful step,
Accept our promise to remember:
That water is not only to be crossed—
But to be honored.

Leave our children at the edge of the shore,
Return our wanderers from the sudden deep,
Turn away the hunger of whirlpools and shadowed bends.

For we seek not to conquer you—
Only to live beside your breathing grace.

O Spirits, hear this plea carried on the wind’s soft canoe:
Let your depths remain your own,
And let the living remain among the living.

Ase.

Poem composed on March 24, 2026, following the conference dinner in honor of participants at the Colloque Point Sud, IFAN, on “Africa’s Waterbodies: Technology, Mobility and Skill in a Changing World” and generously invited me to deliver the Keynote Address.