these men are slaughtering peace
on the altar of our innocence.
they burn incense of immoralities
on the altar of our ignorance,
with our lifeless life at stake
at the abbatoir that lay open
upon these hills of degenerating layers
at the cost of a generation’s life’ span.
men rot like eggs and their medular decline.
foul smell like stale milk
emanating from dead human skins
killed and skinned by cream-power,
like the quarantine for bacilus anthraxis –
that explodes irremotably like gun powder.
‘daughters of god’ with slim-fit skimpy skirts,
against the ‘sons of god’ they throw their darts.
the ‘children of god’ erranding for mammon,
and the ‘servants of god’ bowing to gold,
with rolls of canabis attached between the cannasial teeth of these canivores
as they minister to the destinies of the ‘people of god’
who dance ‘shoki’ and ‘azonto’ with the ‘holyghost craziest noise.’
Samuel Amazing Ayoade (Blazing Pen)