He whom the gods wish to destroy they first make mad
Do you see madness on the streets?
Can you feel the mad beat from the king’s band?
As it jingles, turns & turns your feet?!
A dog destined to be lost does not hear the hunter’s whistle
Do you hear dogs barking in terror?
Can you feel the hair of the hunter bristle?
As he mischievously play the tunes of warriors?!
It’s the war dance of kings!!!
The kings have declared carnage for blood!!!
The town criers of the shrine has soiled his lips
With the trumpet of the prowling sheep.
Like Kowéè, he has cried ìbòsí on the hills
That defiled the village’s priest of peace.
The gods have challenged the kings to war!!!
Many moons ago, we feathered the fathers of our emotions
We watered the holes that birth our sons for war
Our mothers cried and wailed in delivery pangs
As they spurted wells of blood that never ran dry…
And over the years, we have taken to shelter
Because our sons have become gods over us
Our creations have revolted against us, the creators.
The son has become the father of the man!
“Don’t go there!”, we cried. “It bites.”
But “NO!”, he slammed. “How do I enjoy if I don’t explore?”
We have fed baby Oedipus for years
He’s now killed our daddy Octopus, feeding on his behind.
Our desires became habits
Our habits became obsessions;
And our obsessions, have become addictions
But our addictions, is become our prison.
The dance of kings we started at the square,
Joyfully gyrating to the sounds of the wind
As it blows our words & wishes to mind
Has become a war we never intended to declare.
Our warriors have become our jailers
Our hearts have become slaughter seas for sailors
Plundering our good intentions like pirates of glory
The chief cornerstone has finally been rejected!
Left unchecked, we fed our sinful emotions
Craving for more…
We told ourselves, “I can control it. I just want to explore it.”
Alas, we have become like Odewale, the abandoned child
Who killed his king father and married his queen mother;
We killed our conscience to marry our demons.
We sacrificed our restraints to feed our habits.
And now, our habits grown, our worst nightmare…
May the gods help us again!
This poem originally featured in my newsletter, Conversation Series, Subscribe here to receive yours weekly.