by Adedokun Seyi
The seat of scorn has been made of fable beauty
To lure unity into a whimsical role of guilt
And make men to ogle and wink at the naked secret
Of an infinitesimal lie
There lives a city of adoration
Where scores are count as men
Are made to wade
Wave of praise rendered to the Idols of storm.
The foolish scores of a plethora jargon
Which sets men into dancing
And dips wool into their ears
To reject the cry of the humble
We saunter for words to qualify
The entity of their emptiness
And the cocoon of malicious idiosyncrasy
When the fire of lust kindles and we still find our teeth worthy of flashing
When weeds are grown by man
And watered up in his garden
When destruction becomes a vision
And one’s mision is to look forward to his destruction
The expectation of the wicked
May always be to hurt the wall against them
But they know not, if it is the only defence walling them in
Two warriors against each other will war to fall eachother’s wall
In the chemistry of politics
At the foot of an Abachadised nature
Where the knees of incorruptibility got peeled
And today, the gentle flowing stream still remains a parlance
The lamp can be oiled
The penetrating lamp-wool can still protrude its neck
Who has spelled this sleeping nation?
That she get her solution but would not resolute
If education can sly us
And the standard can bring us to our knees
If the government can be the change
And everything turns to be the best
But it was a dream
Now less than just a talk in a midmorning show
A dead imagination gallivanting around the mind
When will I be big? The song of a kindergartener
Little wonder why we sing for a little star
And we still wonder where it is
Since moon is not falling
Can we get back to work and hold our spoons tight?
The jail should belong to the jabberwock
But a home for the truth is uglier than his toilet
When we abrade the abracadabra on us
Maybe we will stay alive.
