Dear teacher and pagan,
With prim fronds
I thee wed.
Is there palmwine in Paradise?
The homy spirit unbinds,
And the grotto of Ogun
Bears the crypt of the word.
Can a god slay its maker?
Homespun idols overturn the alien pantheon,
Though the deities damn the demise.
Is this juju or is it rage?
Art is nothing made complex,
And poetry is a death sentence.
Do monkeys learn to scan?
The catechism of heathenism relieves:
Ancient answers beggar modern questions.
Must scissors avoid white hairs?
Now the poem flees the page…
And the poet staggers on stage…
©Uzor Maxim Uzoatu
