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et us not anchor our boat,
within the slippery harbour,
dire and dark,

where the night is stormy
and the wind
utters a continual moaning sound,
and tension simmers
not far from where the armies
of the Apocalypse
station their base,

since their appetite
for destruction and discord
appear to be their insatiable,
and disorderly passion
constitutes their kingdom of folly
and folly is fatality.

an acid-tested dogma,
at the threshold of mystery,
found to be without truth,

And in the state
of nightmare of perversity,
hearts are shredded into four
as a macabre warning,
and sound
of death-rattle
that escapes from the throat
offers melodious satisfaction to their ear.

Let us anchor our boat
in a harbour
whose equilibrium is stability,
and where the peace of cerebral congestion
represents not the peace of mind.

And with the access
to hallucination of thoughts,
they mistake us
for swinging creatures
on baobab tree,
and frighten us
with assault weapons,
as if we are servants of fear.

Let Amadioha open its belly,
unleash its thunders
and silence the violence
that cruises on the wave
of Harmattan whirlwind,
and halt Saturn,
armed with its parricidal scythe
from the massacre of its people.

Umpteenth time,
they have abandoned
themselves
to the delirium of passion
where the fatal music of death
lures its dancers
to fall into the abyss
of debauch and impiety.

September 19, 2014