The Prophet Poem by Seun Bewaji

I deserve your respect
For I am a prophet
I need not blow trumpet
Before your knees are bent

No one ever cross my line
Without giving me wine
Or paying his fine
In my dreaded shrine

I inherit my charm
In the bottle of balm
I have done great harm
With “ogbo” my charm

I’m devoid of beauty
Ridden with poverty
My clothes that is filthy
Are dainties from my deity

If you don't dread my wonder
I will crack your shoulder
With my prophetic power
And my “ogbo” powder

I heard the prophet yell
With her jangling bell
On her way to the well
To cast her heinous spell