The din refers ultimately
To a perplexing calm in the shadows
And the Harmattan cold
That makes up for the emptiness
Or makes it more unbearable
When the lukewarm sun
Hides ashamedly behind the clouds

The priestess with her red cloth
Carries the bloodied knife and full calabash,
The white bird with exiled head
Makes a last croon
There is another sneeze, and incantations
To Ifa the great and mighty
The penitents await with their
Own costly crooning crestfallen credits

They suplicate the deity
Long life, long health, long everything:
May my son not resemble my landlord
May I never see my own ears unaided
May my enemies be the first to fall
When the din intensifies and carries foul
The perplexing calm and Harmattan cold
When replaced with rain from the seas
O melt the salt of their hate.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006

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