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Snapsong 117

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snapsong-117

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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