Poet's Prophecy Poem by Ifeoluseyi ifeoluwapo Ifeyemi

If these witty words would withstand woes
Of crazily clustered chaotic foes
Living largely on our communal land,
With gross greed grand,
In ruthlessness and rude recklessness;
Striping us of the hope to cope
In this gloomy globe.
Then this runnel must bleed!
For of what good are tigers,
In a herd of impalas?
Aye! Our elders,
Nay! Our elected elders,
Are the malignant sores
On our budding nation's navel.
And our technocratic-leaders,
Are like the village Dibia,
Who dupes the peoples peace,
On lips of great grandiloquence
For he says:
'Akii gbo buburu lenu abore'
Even when the communal crown crumbles.
Ah! may Sango strike their gutless guts!
Hallmarks of hurting higgledy-piggledy
Yet, yonder you see them sitting on justice,
Resting recklessly on the arms our cultural practices;
Fundamentally forming our mores and laws.
Though their barns are of paradise fortune,
May their bodies never grace the holes of our land
As of Jezebel whose thighs graced the teeth of dogs
Ooh! in my belly is a constipation of crippling words.
For our unanimous yawning reaches unto the banks of my wits
Splitting it's widths, into overflow of poetic pains.
Alas! A poet prophesies.