Why have you all chosen to go asleep
You revered deities of our land?
Violence has tilled the soil
Upon which you reigned
There is no longer joy in living
As sorrow assaults the mind
And pains poke the eyes
Ọbàtálá ọbàtáàsà ọbatakuntakun
The white deity in charge of creation
The frames you moulded
While under the influence of palmwine
Are at it again
Shall you bury your jaw in your palm
And watch sanity dance naked
In the market place?
Ògún, fiery god of war and rage
The patron of smiths
And embodiment of all that is metal
The force of fierceness
Has permeated your people
Making them lose their sense of feelings
Gallivanting around spilling blood
Please mould peace in their minds
As you moulded iron in your fiery forge
Èṣù onílé oríta
The deity of cross roads
The trickstar and personificationof death
Peace has journeyed out of the homestead
Innocent blood stream our roads
As libation before your altar
Ṣàngó Olúkòso arẹ̀kújayé
The double headed axe deity
Will you not answer with lightning
When called upon by storm?
Ọ̀rúnmìlà àgbọnnìrègún ẹlẹ́rìí ìpín
Witness of fate and creation
You wield wisdom and knowledge
Shall you not plead with Elédùà
On behalf of the dying world?
Olókun i beseech you
The guardian of the deep ocean
Let the ripples of your wave
Cleans our land
And let peace return to our stead
*ÒRÌSÀ ÌLÚ – gods of the land.
Written by: Albert Seraphin
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.