By Niyi Osundare
Do you really measure your height
By the genuflection of your neighbour
How happy is the sun
That frowns above your head?
To whose ravaging greed
Do we owe our howling stomach
Whose iron grip imprisons the moon
On our darkest night?
Their thunder rides rough-shod
Above our graveyard silence
They whose plot and plan
Is the harvest of our sigh
Long-toothed sharks disturb the waves
Terror in their surge, fright in their fins
Who will build an iron cage
For the tribe of minnows?
Eating Chiefs that they are,
They eat the yam and eat the farm
They call the people to a dance of praise
But hungry ghosts obey their summons
If you fill the world with pots poison
You will down your dinner with a cup or two
If you throw a stone into a crowded market
It may find its way to your father’s head
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