MY STOLEN MAGIC CARD
Blind and numb like death
dispenser of cudinatis, enemy of
the masses of mascara!
Made possible by holy
wizardry not in white Man's land
but within the enclave of black sentiment!
golden fleece released by mental ingenuity
I fear science! Technology awes me
in bewildered extremism!
But alas, my magic card is stolen
by the nemesis of unfortunate
altruism. Two ignoble gentlemen
joined in mischief stole my magic card!
Peddlers of ungodly trade
prodded this ugly cudgel at
my brow! oh! lola, noblest of
mankind! my miffed lips hardly
could utter a word to its detriment!
Oh! thanks, heavens! the card
lacked hole for unholy propitiation
they shall maneuver but the head
lies in the birth of the owner
except death and forceful recovery
can take away the secret number.
Alas naija! Alas my brother!
The trade mark identity has
been stolen. Whence shall I
go for reimbursement of the
stolen naira or who shall replace
the golden wallet? I do not
know! This act does not
surprise the city of Lagos, the
capital of moral impropriety.
At the end of this three moons,
my loads I shall pack and run
to safety where sanctity and truth
reign. in the north, similar
episode outplayed and the result
unexpected. But in this Lagos, theft
and perjury escalate.
Alas! Alas! My magic card thy
holy comfort I shall deeply miss
adieu! Sweat rainfall, adieu