Muyideen Ayinla Poet Rhyme

Give the Maggot his prize

The maggot is weary of children it eats,
Of women laid down in Rafah's cold streets.
It's tired of salivating on innocent dead,
With no parting words and no tears to be shed.

It dined with the war-lords who broke Palestine's door,
On limbs, and on bullets, and on Hind's final core.
It gorged on a nation, sovereign and free,
And now seeks a prize for its "nobility."

So give the maggot his Nobel Prize,
Who seeks a false peace for his villainous eyes.
A peace made of cluster bombs, blood, and our pain,
On dishonesty's altar, for conquest and gain.

The maggot is sated, his tools are all shown,
In Tel Aviv's fortresses, of steel and of stone.
On aid-seekers' bodies, in Khan Younis's sands,
His peace is enacted by madmen's commands.

Then give him his prize, let the world acquiesce,
And grant his nobility to wickedness.
Let his name be inscribed in the blood of the slain,
For a Nobel bought with terror, and perpetual pain.

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