From the Brooks of fantasy.
The boom of a coming legs makes a glorious call.
This so gratifying not to be compared
To the funeral calls of our politicians and corps.
Not for the growth of our nation,
But to add more loins to our necks.
And our sweat abroad for their slave Masters.
While the best of the corp signal creation to hasten the recent happening.
Echoes from felabration can’t be compared to this booming.
The approach of the coming legs is neither of a man nor woman.
What a sense of confusion has this made us to be?
For a fear not to woo a bobrisky is now waged on us.
A class action of fagging beautiful men and handsome women.
The joy of a fourteen years at Agodi.
Being a party in all sectors even the church.
Yet to have recovered from the nightmare of the Marshalls
That daily send the nation to Egypt while their prodigals are abroad.
Our ear is torn of that which bobrisky our wards in education.
My son, don’t be enticed by her call.
Her breast is sorrow and her pant is hell.
Same call the politicians do every four years
To atone our gluttons for their ways to make.
We await a Moses to pull us out of this Egypt.
This I pray dear divine for your beloved,
Less second death lay its hand on us before judgement.
© Olorunleke Olorode.
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