gods
in deadly grooves and shrines
watching their agonies
at the new converts
starving them of rites
feeds and drinks…
I have sat for dinner
in the house of the gods
and watch them drink their
bloods,
black, scary liquids.
I watch the procession of tears
and the gods don’t cry tears
but in the confines of their
loneliness
they wither and falter
feeding on dead ordinary
remains!
Were they not our ancestors?
Were they not the builders of our
walls?
Were they not the centre of our
culture,
the hero we grew up loving?
We neglect them
in coldness and hardness
and run after foreign gods…
oh how hypocritical we are,
savouring the music of the west
that had costed us of sanity.
The gods are dying
our home breaking
The Niger has lost its sanity
and we, the children, stare blindly
at the fallen groove
and the untended walls of Sango,
and at the rust to Ogun’s iron we
laugh
we commit a heinous crime
burning the beauty of Ifa.
I have broken words with the
gods
and they vowed to neglect us
and make us pay
for the pains and starvation
The dark shrines are burning…
I have sat for kola
at the high shrine
listening to the wailing of the
gods
and the gods don’t cry tears but
blood.
Written by: Adedayo Michael
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