Cycles And Fellowship Of Hypocrisy Poem by OMOYAJOWO OLAOLUWA

I had laid my pen long time ago; my pen had rest without soundness.
It sat on mountain of lowliness and watched the circle of hypocrisy,
Pen wants to bleed: heart is seized
I had had a hope for this circle; the hope was soon laid to rest.
Fellowship of unconsciousness, sleepers of soundness!

We keep recycling same mind, every day
They seem to hold us in ransom! Though fewer
They don't know us; neither do they think us through.
Failure is a mean term for their innocence!

He walks about and claims every man's home
He is savage in his approach: he is not human,
He stands, drinks and walks with his brain
He is uncivilized, savage and a man of the 10th century

We gave him land to sleep, he took our mats
Sleeps with our wives and children,
He drinks blood and water, monopoly of violence!
Boom irons on his shoulder
A carrier of pains: enemy friend.

Only oil could be flowing in his veins, inhumane and savage
Unrepentant slayer… mass weapon of destruction

They have milk us this far… a term first class citizen!
The head sleeps in disarray.

Brothers blood flow in pains
They watch without empathy.
No excuse for the wicked… Satan's companion
If they have a land, let them stay.
No blood is superior.

I better have an enemy outside… than to sleep with one!
Wake up my pen…