Right before my country’s aesthetics got battered by
voices from microphones of prophets preaching the
gospel of changes(banalities) with the lips of lies,
we’ve heard of men, who once abhorred filthy lucre, hiding mighty
gallons of oil which outsizes the waterscapes of the Nile
in the bank of greed,
We’ve heard ballads depicting the virtues of Samson’s
ferocity, his ordination from the womb, the folly in his
love and the gambit in Delilah’s oomph.
We’ve seen Nebuchadnezzar’s
whip and the dexterity of it’s wrath, drawing designs of maps on
the skins of our past, we’ve also been told of how dames and popes
who were honored with a badge of truth later danced to beats
resonating from the larynx of demons
And as sagacity vehemently suffocate in the armpits
of fools, and wits are now considered inferior to imprudence
by those we call sages, how then will the signposts of truth be
erected on the way to renaissance?
who will purchase the ointments
of Justice from the streets of sheba, and then ride from the south
where thieves and bandits dwell to here and now just to heal the
eagle of our nation which now flies with one wing?