I’m the machine of my custom
The horrid wheels of devastation
I will let tradition lead and be its passenger
Till time tilts and becomes still.
For I had broken much of its hollow bones
Yes! Tradition must ride, I pledge in truth.
When stabbed with the saber of the corrupt
I promise to stitch my lips with the needle of silence.
O, they can swipe as much monies
Its surely traditional rites!
Shall it ride on crippled wheels?
Silence must be my judgment and revolt.
For now my throat is parched.
Walk into house of Aso. See what it holds,
Take your cut. I’m definitely with sliced tongue.
My strength is gone and my tongue is dumb.
So must tradition rides on skeleton tires?
I shall no more be the bump in this path.
Cruise, O cruise! We await a dead end,
With broken and impoverished hearts,
When this nation’s heart crashes!
meet the poet: Stephen Crøwn Gyet