Our Yoke Poem by Olorode Olorunleke

Run run run it out,
The disarray of the feet.
Bend low never raise it less it abounds in the cave.
Ohun tabawifogbo is the chant that's in our mouth.
Which is laying many to rest than the Iraq missile
That's daily making our hearts her domicile.
In it our futues are nurture to the praise of the unknown god,
That in purity of heart saw is place in the head.
Do you say bokoharam or herdsmen that lift our soul to the unknown land Or the glutton that builds leprosy in our spirit.
Religion is so built that our fellows are being lay in the dust.
Yet we celebrate it to be for peace in mutual relationship to our God.
Hmmm.
Has our government done anything to weigh it down?
Never, all cries are being turn down.
Those we called to blowout the dust in our eyes but pepper they are using to blow it.
No hope is lay in their hands yet we magnify their lot.
Is there any hope to get out of this?
No, not only our land becomes animals' farm or the second coming of Christ