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He is the maker of my state

A master playmaker

Asked to excel

Became a rebel

Prayed for to be a warrior

Now he’s harvesting preys

I make mistakes in dozens

Twelve of them at once

Like disciples on a stroll

Walking across a sea with no other color than red

The shores told tales that they came back well-fed

Forget that they were forced

Forget about that class, forget you were first

Papers do nothing, who do you know

Impeccably dressed, impeccable English

That is not the make of any honorable I know

He is the maker of my fate

Powerful in a way that is perplex

I will not bore you with a tale, my story is complex

Just find me a moonlight, promise me the sun at dawn

Garnish it with silence

It makes everything perfect

Idumota was left to itself

Atop the bridge springs forth boutiques with floors for shelves

We may find thoroughfare hard to come by

But the prices are cheap, so I am encouraged to come buy

So leave scarcity of space a problem for sirens to resolve

When the president comes to town, normalcy is dissolved

He is the winner of my game

A brute of a tactician

Brothers become united against their friends

Temples are ignited, faiths have to follow the trend

Ablutions, then absolutions

Redemptions, followed by what men will not define as revolution

If hence a thief emerges

Conscience becomes like a ship observed to be submerging

Margins become neither fair nor delicate

The blind and the seeing are never the same

You paid to be admitted, see what you became

A doctor’s reverse

Bliss in an alternate universe

Love conquers all, but tongues and faiths

He who believes in neither recruits both

Described as gentle as a dove

Not till he tampered with the till

And his friends stole to their fill

Not till we are left with the bill

Till our paper started weighing half of its former size

Did morsels of commonsense descend

It wasn’t enough to go round

Some of them are still going round

Requesting to have their corruption back

Never cutting objective slacks

Showing clearly what their nation lacks

They are the real playmakers

Those men with purpled thumbs

They are the makers and masters of their fates…


Akeem Adetayo Oyalowo.

Source: http://loudthotzpoetry.blogspot.com.ng/2017/05/poems-read-at-loudthotz-poetry-open.html

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