Jesus For Sale Poem by Tosin Abegunde

He's sold for thirty shekels of silver
And I, just a denial, who's fair?
Falling and standing these several seasons
A habit that engulfs covent-hood
Who cares except my offertory!

The flatulent corruptible saint
Gathering our stipends for wealth:
A legacy to rob Peter to pay Paul.

With emaciated bones they suffer,
To build castle for an ear in the air.
Our eyes have seen His salvation,
But gentiles rejoice in our stead.

We toil while they coil in joy;
We in penury and they in affluence,
Two distant but close apartments.

They grow wings magically,
Skipping over our bald grey hairs,
Like the dart of a hungry sparrow,
While I aimlessly crawl to beg and
Cuddled by drought amidst plenty.

The dusk spells my abode always,
Making me a man of many homes:
Bridge, runway, gutter and ghetto,
With presidential anopheles songs
That rhythms till dawn: carnival it is
House built with watery saliva,
Will melt away by a wet dew:
To this home, its impossible!
It's come to stay be not deceived
Commercial Jesus we serve here.