The footprints of hasty heels and tires,
Plastered on the fluffy dunes on the roads,
Passengers clicked their tongues in disgust,
As they danced to the harm-ony of bumpy rides.

The sleepers keep watch over the cities,
Sprinkling slumber to the sunken eyes of farmers,
Awaiting harvest after a drought.

Agba ko si loja( The elders are absent from the market)
Ori omo tuntun ti wo( Newborns now have bent heads)
The elders are on exile,
Newborns now writhe in loose wrappers,
To the noise of the market.

Three is a crowd,
In this coup d'etat,
Rocking lands and shores at dawn,
To reduce breaths to dust .

They swung into action,
By playing rock paper scissors,
While sitting on the fence,
In the middle of an unrest.

An ode to the one man band;
The beneficiary of the meshed mess,
Freestyling to violins of violence,
Baking chaos in summer,
And daily bread in winter.


© © Dazzyella