I will make this sober confession
my friend, but it is a bold sum of general conviction.
where my country will pour its libation
and purge a blood of sacrificial lamb is a tough task
for my determination.

the bird that sings on this pinnacle is a bad omen
now it has disappeared; there is fire under the roof
dogs are barking on the streets of my nation
no one seems to care
Opon ifa was forgotten where they shared cake
Apo ifa is now used for US dollars; what happened to Opele?

why are the scriptures now the ventures’ primus inter pares?
profiteering and extortionology seem course-titles in theological schools.
the bird that sings on this pinnacle is a bad omen
now it flew without bidding; isn’t this warning foreboding?

apprehensive dogs are furious and bark in the street these days
did they stir any when this evil spirit arrived on the canopy of our dwelling?
why do they disturb the peace and tranquility of my turbulent nation now
when leaders have revolved to pursue national interest
then urged gullible audience that corruption is truly present in the nation
but not culpable for national stagnation?
our libation and blood if ready
where shall we pour
who shall pour
when?

the skinny bones shall pour on the filled day
to without staggering carry the sacrificial calabash
the sagging fat fleshes fear to become skinny
so the melody of rotten souls croons on sweetly and bitterly
the birds that sing on this pinnacle is a bad omen
it deserted her beneficiaries without word
the malicious cloud that hovers up shall wet or wipe but let’s wait.

 ‘Deji W. Adesoye