The Mad Season Poem by Stephen Olufemi Omolara

Ah ah ah ah, he he he hee hee
‘xcuse me, clear the pitch
I have a strange song to sing
With a stranger rhythm that induces
Frenzied mad steps that ache the body.
Yeah, the mad season is here
A seasoned wine that changes bottle
With the politics of “me live” others die
Season of mourned consciences
Consciences massacred in “gory” of money politics
In this mad season alone
Are you dancing?
Oh oh oh, you’re stepping on my toes.
Ok clear the pitch a little more.
Now listen, eh ey!
The surviving consciences in mourning clothes crying out in silent voices
Ah ah ey! Voice muffled with the boots of
The mad dancers,
Ah! In this mad season,
When king dances with feet upward
The crown covers the murderers’ faces.
Their lips apportioning the killer poison
And the mad dance continues
In the mad season,
Smoldering iron shivers
Fish sweat in the Arctic,
Oil congealed on fire
Ah ah ey, its flu is back with the raging fire of insanity
Ah ah ey, the dancers change hands
The madness take a new dimension
Yet an old wine in a new bottle
Eey, le’me go before I catch this madness
’xcuse me, le’me call the psychiatrists.
Strange things than stranger happen!
The mad dance is squashed,
As the new rogue is crowned!