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At times I am verily weary to the bone,
Confining my soul in a self-made cocoon
By shutting out the world from my heart
As my mind meanders speedily tween
The hills of despair thru' rueful spleen--
There was a country ere things fell apart.


Pining for the wonder wand of Bro. Jero,
Our hopes have turned to zero--
Hit by the arrow of God--ha, penkelemesi!
Who can now this nation's nemesis remedy?
Acknowledging Wole Soyinka (Nobel Laureate) and Chinua Achebe--both  of whom august Professors of Literature; chronic critics of mad, mediocre regimes, lack-lustre living and advocates of the small fry--whose master titles are initiated herein.

*Wole Soyinka's: Ibadan: The Penkelemesi Years, and The Trials of Brother Jero

*Chinua Achebe's: Things Fall Apart, and Arrow of God
Walking in the Spirit, copping
a feel
of the flesh.
Birth is by two ways:
labour and lancet.
Nope,--three.
Doth lead to dark doom,
when it is given room.
Jesus was a Carpenter
Enthroned without a coup d'état
Never drove a Cadillac
He lived, as it were, in lack!

With so little, He was contented
Though He was frequently tempted
All the worldliness of the world
He always overcame with the Word!

King of kings and Lord of lords
He redeemed us from the laws
By His pure and cleansing blood
He has saved us from the flood!

His steps in life should be our course
Each bearing his and her own cross
Our hands and voices we must raise
To worship Him and give Him praise!


© Raphael Uzor
Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. (Mat 5:3)
Bad at following
rules;
even God's laws,
I've broken
all.
Feelings twirl in ceaseless
circuit;
pacific passion becomes
a rivulet.
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