ONOJA ANTHONY (30th, november 1988 / JOS NIGERIA)

At the fleeting gleam of noonday
It is time! I said it is time!
Let's sit down in snartches under the roof top of snacky squail
And re-kindle in our minds our kings are murdered, some slain to sinful scorn, died in war, killed by epilepsy, some hunted by hungry ghosts of viel ancestors and dark sorcery loaming the duch of purgatory

Some poisoned by their kinsmen
Others by their beloveth wives
Some lightening candles sleeping in scenario
Killed to shameful scorn or more to dim-tide snore
Oh death!
Killer of endless kings
Never be forgotten in tercets of sunset