Songs On The Tablet (Epitaph) Poem by Tosin Abegunde

Songs On The Tablet (Epitaph)

Here sleeps a charismatic enigma,
So reverend a messiahic personality
Who, with witts, won wierd wars,
Subject to comfort of rain and sun
Amidst thorns and filthy dunghill,
Where elusive decision encamps,
With his mechanisms halt to no query.

The man with cold hands found him
Cautioned filled yet unaware,
Strongly helpless under a skirt
The most holy realm for a saint!
'Impossible, he can't be! '
All these i heard with my mouth ajar
But not to his response, he is gone!

We've laid the wreath in memory:
The icon we'll forever want again
Is the voice of man also of God?
Only a pilgrim therein could say,
Till we get there, I reserve my comment
Ashes we've given to the dust and its over
Till the great assembly, we are still with awe.