Prose

You are a skunk!

You are as skunk,
You scuttle around with your rear in the Sky,
Like your father, Emperor Antechinus, The restless and foolish king who got his wild desire filled
And dropped dead the same day.
Your head is buried in the stagnant Sewer of Oshodi market urinary
So you smell nothing.
But look around you,
See how many are holding their Congested noses up in derision,
While you flutter your plumage of pride
Over a deserted kingdom.
But there is still a little left to scavenge
Before the storm comes from the land of Ammon.
Yet you think there is a buffet to live on Forever.
Congratulations!
You finally got to seat on the seven Thrones of your worthless predecessor
Who had a big head filled with rancid Coconut fluid.
Congratulations!
You finally got to grow a lone horn Between your deaf ears.
Go, go, hop to the top of the mountains
And proclaim yourself god.
The spirit forces who clapped you up
Will clap you down
And share your garments in a revelry
As you feast on dust and crawl on your Belly
Into the habitat of wild and crawling Creatures
There you will be pinned on a high stake Until you expire from the surface of the earth in shame.
I am not a prophet
So ask me not of a badge of divinity
I am a man like you, ordinary,
Made of red sand.
But I was there when you were born into A bed of plantain leaves
And I will be there when you are banished in handcuffs of cactus.
Are you not the one who invaded
The new land of decorations
And made away with the holy ornaments of the Temple?
Why then do you ask me whether
I am jesting at you.
I will do no such thing.
I am only a scribe.
Nothing more
And nothing further to say.

Publisher & Editor In Chief

About author
Publisher and Editor-in-Chief, Newspackng.
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