Appease the gods,
Remove from their eye the logs.
Are they blind to see with this opened eye,
That their emperor life are been threatened to die.
Awake the god of iron,
To slumber not amidst this risky vulg.
Suffice it with a beckon clarion,
Placate rituals with the blood of dog.
Assuage our land and make us triumph,
If truly Yee are the god of this present vogue.
Ogun bath not with water,
We beseach thee to swim in perpetrators blood.
They’ve projected on our soil a chronic blubber,
Tear and wear their flesh like palm frond.
Has sango went on an exile?
Allowing hazard to enguf our land in its lifetime.
Has its mystique thunder ceased to valid,
When the suicide killers are giving Us a panic.
Thou who strike the cloud with double headed axe,
Much like the mythic nordic thorr.
While banging the drum of war,
Hostiles are rolling us on the rhythm of thy storm.
Lightning of thy thunder struck like fire,
Erstwhile when still worshipped like heir.
What happened? art thou really tired,
Of absurding us in this risky trial.
Sango confess to us if truly You’re dead,
Boko bombs no longer shiever when thy thunder is heard.
Death now parades our land with a hearse,
Thy loyal tempestuous is solemly dearth.
Insurgence soaked our land with blood,
Eyeball springing forth tears like flood.
Tooth gnashing teeth in agony,
Heart ponding fears of disharmony.
Mass burial becomes a ceremony,
Where gods suck blood quenching glory.
Is Obatala still very drunk,
To rescue its creature from prickled thorns.
Prove to the triggers that You’re a slug,
Kill them with a fumbling alcoholic finger of wrath.
Remove the cloth covering the Masqurade,
Let their magical powers be unveiled.
The God I know dont put on tattered rags,
He dont wear bubu and ankara.
Tathered rags covers thy face,
From seeing those dying in fate.
Thy hand held firmly the matchet,
To murder slayers slippery our legs to death.
Your leg resemble that of human,
Still You claim You’re from sealand.
They appease thee with a holy water,
Thou generously zip till thy leg stargar.
So we worship a drunkard,
Whose reputations equate that of Lagbaja.
If truly you are god,
Why not stop the shedding of innocent blood.
Are the gods sleeping,
To hear the bomb blasting.
Innocent tomb they crave as their bed,
Slumbering in wake of this bloody dread.
Where are this gods,
Who in their lifetime are warriors,
Cant they longer hold sword,
To slay and murder our Liquidator.
Annually they are pacified with ritual of dog,
Yet they allow the shedding of blood.
We give to them,their due appease,
Still, they fail to give us our peace.
The gods are all dead,
Chronically they are all deaf.
Their eyes are blind,
They are cruel and unkind.
The gods are Fraudsters,
They are all drunkards.
We shall go back to our Lord,
Only him,is the Supreme GOD.
On his rock,we shall firmly stand,
We shall neglet the gods and their shrine.
We shall worship him, wholeheartedly with our heart,
Only him can stop the tribulation on our earth.
Osanobuwa is still very living,
The gods and goddess are no more existing.
PLOT: This piece was inspired by God, from night dream,to ask the people why they are still fetching water inside a perforated basket, that holds not water.Why are they still worship the gods, which they call,warrior and yet this gods cannot defeat and make them triumph,over their enemies.It ridicles not,a traditional worshippers who choose to serve Olodumare in pure truth and sincerity but to strike a raw nerves on people, who are head over heels in love, worshipping gods,created by Men.For if they are not dead,what hell were they looking,when the whole nation,including their shrine,was set ablaze,by the suicide bombers.They are all dead,and we should let all this gods,Rest In Peace!