Monday, 15 December 2014


This song they always sang
is clothed in some olden melody
far and removed from our new tunes.
The one we seek
is feed, meant for the soul.
Should a crown rest on a knee
when the head goes uncovered
or beads on a pole
when the waist goes unadorned?
Too long we lived here
same games, same players
same scores, same winners
even nollywood, is better scripted.
Let them be as relics
 these practices as of old
and their high priests
banished into folklores
confined to corridors of history
so with modern injections
we can cure modern malaises.
Surely a typewriter can only wish
it’s a computer that parlays with internet
‘cos whilst the candle dances in tune
with the melody of the night breeze
a bulb stares in defiance
daring the breeze to a standstill.
This is where we stand!

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