By The Writing Writer, Abdulrouf Wasiu
The Weird Village
In our weird village
We wake to see the sun
splitting into halves….
befitting siege of the stars
Harbors people’s shadow.
In our weird village
We kill the unborn children
that hold the village forth
for an elderly and a yet-to-die
sacrificial’s wake and re-call.
In our weird village
Tantrums and idiocies bang
to birth the ancient troubles
as stupidity is renamed as
the king of fame, we live in
the dark hood, designed with
fabrics of duress and deceits.
In our weird village
People cry on our sorrows
But we laugh out our pains
Village elders are so busy
Hanging the untrue moon, as
youngs rot in forgotten hopes.
In our weird village
We refuse to drench
the softest land
Where the ocean of milk
lies underneath
But we love bathing
in the stream of blood
Even when it requires
hard labor. We enjoy
feeding our pancreas
With foods of no spice.
In our wired village
We walked
with our eyes opened
in the dirty tunnel
but passed by
closing them
to greeners
beside the orchid.
In our wired village
Only when the soul is
fervently sober to swift the
walking truth amidst the
Worn-out facial looks…..
then, the negros would be
beheaded by the angry serpents.
Abdulrouf Wasiu writes from Iwo, Osun state.
Read Also: Everyone is nearly a yahoo now
