Dissolutions 1. Poem by Felix Emeka George

Men would be installed as king
To uphold the people creed
Which tradition would be
A custodian of the religions
Yet If you see them in the alien shrine
In truth it shows
White men knowledge is nothing.

To what end is our brain
Men of a western magic wand
To conjure from its disillusions
And modified and developed
In our way
By the confusionist drive
That donates colour paper
To a living in this mans shrine
And to kill our own shrine
Instead of putting meaning
In our religioin and custom
And tradition
Some ill wit want men pursuit in endless
And in madness, to prison and blind

And I was left with the qustion
To answer and tell and dictate
Why the Mp's did not make decree
Into the guiding script of the state
For an holiday and prayers creed
In request
To heal land that is sicking.