The Blind Seer

......And i met a man whose garment was rot of rags;
Cuddling lies in old sack,
Fondling old lyrics like rolling fumes. He said:
"son, this brethren of yours
Soon shall kiss the tomb,
So bring things to appease the biggest foe,
For this wahala isn't a doctor's case,
'cause little ghosts had bundled him."
I watched, drained in awe,
Casting a wild glance,
While he fondled his bitter hymn,
Thus sapping me of borrowed joy,
As his cemented lies sprawls like soys.
Rattling. Raving. Chanting.
The unknown songs,
He said:
"Your brethren's plagues is but sevenfold,
The reason he's not bold,
Deadly stroke first of 'em all, followed by malignant boils and sores,
The others can be counted in scores,
For the adversary can inflict the pores. "
Around the fire, he gamboled,
And danced and said :
" he has to be canopied under my roof,
For their grand-master dread my root,
This shrine of mine, is the shelter of the sunny god;
Who i served from a youthful age. "
He said:
" Bring seven fattened calves,
And yam in a whiteman's rolling house,
Branded gins in their thousand tons,
I shall commune with their master one on one,
Feeding its Progenitors and hungry ghosts."
I sagged down my mountainous head,
Cachinating amidst his tell-tales,
For my anger can kill a million tricks,
Though to him, i was an imbecile of distorted limbs.
Beautiful and lenient lies,
Adorned and decorated with empty words,
Soaked like the linen of a perspiring pant,
Worn by a man of slanted age.
Rusted coins.
Double-bladed leaves.
Broken pot of thunderous form,
Memory of cemented tricks,
Performed by a man of squalid lane.

Written by Isaac Archibongpoet (the street writer) www.facebook.com/isaac.archibongpoet