AS A LAMB IN YOUR SHRINE

PROMISE ITA OKPOHOUDEME

Tuesday 30 December 2025

When the world reflect me not

on her daily reflections. Not

that I am evil and ugly than a thing

but that I should bury in you forlorn thing

verses about all revolving around

rhymes igniting the world

poems for her who's blinded by corruption

music for her existing in illusion.

When myself fails my face

So, I beseeched another to favour my face

But, a hand is a friend to the body

Who can attend to my face's story.

When evils mask my beauty

And the Sun casts one out from His duty

Only poetry employs in all purity

And speaks in all sincerity.

Take me to your abattoir and slaughter

Imbibe my blood and infuse your Muse

Isn't follies fall four thousand times

One fooling poetry pays public shames

Won't poetry mirrors man's mind demanding no apology

What gives follies to the comedy?

But, when the world reflect me not!

So, I come to your shrine

To be slaughtered and sacrifice (d)

Open your calabash, let me walk in

Evoke the muse that I may be knot.