Aladura
The wind smashed him into meditations
As he staggered with a bottle of beer into prophecies
Genuflecting before gullible multitude
Heads hitching and hatching
Murmuring prying the unknown
Drums still, steps stiff, smokes smearing
The Aladura robes filled the temple
As water covers the dark
A thick smoke descended from his eyes
as though he saw spirits as trees
He mumbled some words best known by trees
The Aladura screamed,
Am the voice crying from the bottle of beer
Making straight the way of the Aladuras.
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