The Reckoning

The day comes to a close,

The Sun has gone to rest

The hen has gone to roost

Her chicks are less one

But she does not know, or

Couldn’t care less about it

What good is care to the weak

When might prevail still

The hawk grows fat on the young fowl’s essence

Perched atop the northern mountains

Out of reach from man and beast

The great flood is come again

Their wings bear them away

Ends there are, but means are not

Hopes and dreams is all we’ve got

Their arks, they build with planks of blood

But safe they sail even in storm

Where lies the face of the gods, or

The God we choose to set above

Is he asleep, blind or dumb, or

Has the devil we made usurped or God?

The chosen few take it all

The cake for all, swallowed by one

Tomorrow’s yam is roasted tonight

Omodedere yet starves on

Still we bow and scrape

Applauding every crumb that drops from the great oaken table.

Shouts of joy rent the air

A chunk of half-rotten mutton has dropped into our laps

The gods truly bless us.

Blinded by crumbs in our eyes

We sings praise songs for the flavour we perceive

Feeding on blood-stained crumbs

We fight to survive

The gods will liberate us someday

So we say, when nothing spills

We fail to grasp the simple truth

Ògún only favours the quick sitter

The Olympians will not meddle with men as long as Zeus lives

He who desires liberation gains it by force

The boot that wears the boot of oppression

Does not move till it is struck

God is asleep, blind or deaf

And the gods do battle only by the might of men

If we live on crumbs by faith

The gods look on in silence

By rousing from our tepid state are the gods agitated

Arise, ye that seek liberation

And wrest it by force.

Culled from olofinaikublog


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