By Gbemisola Adeoti
The world owes this bespectacled bard
a garland of coral beads and gold.
More than the wag of Wakajaye,
he wrenches mirth from melancholy’s mouth
and restores reason for the season
to wear again, its armour of humour;
a world that winks at its spastic saviour
on the steady cross of rumour
a world of schemed ache and tumour.
I listened to the bard
echoing in ancient thoughts and tongues
what the baobab says to the forest:
Eti roo!
“In the clan of peace,
election without acrimony
is like divorce without alimony”.
When a talkative dove is axed
and yanked off its tottering handle
the bard pensively shrugs his shoulders
and retorts with a plaintive de ja vu:
“the burden of ‘Lenbade
differs from her daughter’s discomfort
‘Lenbade bemoans Greek gifts
neatly wrapped in a ballot box
her daughter desires a sweet tweet
about trinkets in a bullet box.
Eti roo!
as the baobab says to the forest:
In the clan of peace,
“a bullet is enough for the wise
who dares to dig out the royal vice”
because no one eats twice
at the barn of a bandit”.
In the land of bliss
“he who slays the piper
must taste the barbecue”
and he who sprays the piper.
precipitates a major misfortune”.
Eti roo!
as the baobab says to the forest:
in the land of ease,
uneasy lies the head
being barbed with a broken bottle.
But come to think of it;
when the road is not famished,
“Air condition is permanent
in a moving tricycle”.
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