Saturday, 18 April 2020

If the Master was not around ... by Alisonomi

I had some nightmares yesternight

A muse came to my humble abode

Seeking after a scribbling quill 


I wouldn’t have allowed her me seduced 

But if poetry obeys the laws of prophesy 

What power does the poet really possess 


Let it be known these are not my words 

But of a muse that rides, day and night 

Around the shores of our fatherland 


The muse said something I’m afraid to say

That if indeed Master Coro was not around 

Our panjandrum, the Mallam wouldn’t have died


You might not understand, this isn’t easy to say 

But I now fully comprehend why our misleaders 

Never trusted our own uncomfortable sick beds 


And as before master Coro graced our blessed shores 

The doors of the metropolis were to our jefes ajar 

So, often and on they rented their doctors and beds 


But since he decided to among us pitch his tent

All the metropolitan hospitals have closed their doors 

Forcing our princes to rent the beds of our dying homes

Copyright: Alisonomi2020

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