As A Lamb In Your Shrine Poem by PROMISE ITA OKPOHOUDEME

When the world reflect me not
on her daily reflections. Not
that I am evil and ugly than a thing
but that I should bury in you forlorn thing
verses about all revolving around
rhymes igniting the world
poems for her who's blinded by corruption
music for her existing in illusion.

When myself fails my face
So, I beseeched another to favour my face
But, a hand is a friend to the body
Who can attend to my face's story.

When evils mask my beauty
And the Sun casts one out from His duty
Only poetry employs in all purity
And speaks in all sincerity.

Take me to your abattoir and slaughter
Imbibe my blood and infuse your Muse

Isn't follies fall four thousand times
One fooling poetry pays public shames
Won't poetry mirrors man's mind demanding no apology
What gives follies to the comedy?

But, when the world reflect me not!
So, I come to your shrine
To be slaughtered and sacrifice (d)
Open your calabash, let me walk in
Evoke the muse that I may be knot.


the world reflect me not
on her daily reflections. Not
that I am evil and ugly than a thing
but that I should bury in you forlorn thing
verses about all revolving around
rhymes igniting the world
poems for her who's blinded by corruption
music for her existing in illusion.

When myself fails my face
So, I beseeched another to favour my face
But, a hand is a friend to the body
Who can attend to my face's story.

When evils mask my beauty
And the Sun casts one out from His duty
Only poetry employs in all purity
And speaks in all sincerity.

Take me to your abattoir and slaughter
Imbibe my blood and infuse your Muse

Isn't follies fall four thousand times
One fooling poetry pays public shames
Won't poetry mirrors man's mind demanding no apology
What gives follies to the comedy?

But, when the world reflect me not!
So, I come to your shrine
To be slaughtered and sacrifice (d)
Open your calabash, let me walk in
Evoke the muse that I may be knot.
When the world reflect me not
on her daily reflections. Not
that I am evil and ugly than a thing
but that I should bury in you forlorn thing
verses about all revolving around
rhymes igniting the world
poems for her who's blinded by corruption
music for her existing in illusion.

When myself fails my face
So, I beseeched another to favour my face
But, a hand is a friend to the body
Who can attend to my face's story.

When evils mask my beauty
And the Sun casts one out from His duty
Only poetry employs in all purity
And speaks in all sincerity.

Take me to your abattoir and slaughter
Imbibe my blood and infuse your Muse

Isn't follies fall four thousand times
One fooling poetry pays public shames
Won't poetry mirrors man's mind demanding no apology
What gives follies to the comedy?

But, when the world reflect me not!
So, I come to your shrine
To be slaughtered and sacrifice (d)
Open your calabash, let me walk in
Evoke the muse that I may be knot.


the world reflect me not
on her daily reflections. Not
that I am evil and ugly than a thing
but that I should bury in you forlorn thing
verses about all revolving around
rhymes igniting the world
poems for her who's blinded by corruption
music for her existing in illusion.

When myself fails my face
So, I beseeched another to favour my face
But, a hand is a friend to the body
Who can attend to my face's story.

When evils mask my beauty
And the Sun casts one out from His duty
Only poetry employs in all purity
And speaks in all sincerity.

Take me to your abattoir and slaughter
Imbibe my blood and infuse your Muse

Isn't follies fall four thousand times
One fooling poetry pays public shames
Won't poetry mirrors man's mind demanding no apology
What gives follies to the comedy?

But, when the world reflect me not!
So, I come to your shrine
To be slaughtered and sacrifice (d)
Open your calabash, let me walk in
Evoke the muse that I may be knot.