ENOCH AANU OJOTISA

If by life cometh death

Then death is a friend.
...

It is true you are not my dear;
But it is for you I but once care;
Friends we are for real, but for once;
Never are we lovers for once.
...

Jesus Christ,
avoid me crisis,
leave me not;
never to serve in the core north.
...

A puzzle it turns out,
That we in turn, turn in at crossed roads of answer.
Fighting not to be fought with mockery
So, I, the originator of this line answered.
...

Will you agree to my words?
and will my confessions have a place in your heart?
Leave me not in the passion of emotions,
and suffer not your heart with bitterness.
...

When I die because I may die,
Or should I die if I die,
maybe if I die because I ought to die,
let mother earth be a cool room for the cadaver.
...

You know just like that, she rose from my bosom and went into another.
With her wrapper tied loosely around the waist i paid dowry on.
In the bosom of another man there she laid and sold what I paid for...
Then a woman I concluded, is nothing but a good you've bought,
...

Why have you neglected your conscience?
Why have you so soon not to abreast yourself
With the sacrifice of years and blood,
With which these 'comrades',
...

Here we are...
In the middle of the cliff.
Staring at the end again and again.
In the middle of the cliff.
...

Truly I am no different from the other.
But you shaped me like a porter;
You raised my eyes to yours in the night of mood;
Though the day was crude;
...

In the edge of time must I address____
I am he who tells the tale of our roadmap.
From the excerpts of our agony's cup must I account our taste of time?
I am he who tells the tale of our roadmap.
...

When the chants of sorrow,
Gaol our rights like no morrow;
In our heritage we lament.
But there will be atonement.
...

When I die because I may die,
Or should I die if I die,
maybe if I die because I ought to die,
let mother earth be a cool room for the cadaver.
...

The ritual continues in the temple;
scourging heat of the incense burning from the pot,
the sacred pot of the spirits,
enlightening the dim eyes of the priest
...

Is this the African community my father told me he lived?
In here now, life looks empty,
our hope has come to look vague.
And the temple of our ancestors is famished of its sacrifice.
...