Life and time have held us captives, turned
the moon an imposter in the affairs of the night.
The justice-chirping canaries of yesterday have buried
their preaching flute of songs under heap of clay.
Now our dread-riddled minds during these stony days
and perilous nights, itch and pine for a healing song.
But for the sake of fish for their potbellies*, they have
turned bridges into giant walls, sutured broad broad roads
of yesterday to a spider’s web. Wordsmiths like all inhabitants,
dread to unveil within the verses of their poems— the blazing
resentments buzzing in the crevices of their hearts for the
captains steering the ship of this land, for graves here reek like
all other catacombs of the world, yet, with tons of promising
dreams. They will, brethren, definitely come knocking on the
doors of your minds tonight, asking with the bellow of an angry bull
after this bard, when they surface like a full moon,
keep me in clouds— unnamed,
save another star from premature fall.
* Akeem Lasisi “Ori Agbe”.