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”.


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