Reuben the cursed son of Jacob

It was yesterday or was it not?
Your voice echoed through your pen
The ink glued to time and memories
Like the running night clouds when
The swift east wind wakes the sun

It is today, yes just today
Your pen echoes through your voice
Like the noisy okpolokpolo in Osho-drive’s chest
The lyric of which there’s no dance step
But bile mingled with disgust to our already flaccid legs

It was yesterday, yes just yesterday
Your pen like a dragon rained fire
To the defense of the commons and lowly
Whose future from ages long have been distilled
In the apparatus of fear, hopelessness and helplessness

I mean yesterday! Or was it not?
When we all rushed to Wilmer’s paper stand
To hear from the oracle of the Guardian
Whose mouth spewed terror on government’s treachery
As exemplified in Bukola’s lootitude anthem

Yea! It was you, yes you!
Who gave heads and presidents the lingering flu
At the threat of grenade and letter bomb
Your pen like Voltron’s magical blazing sword
Rubbished their excesses, dictatorship and cowardice

Oh today, yes just today
Like the gloomy weather that signal heavy rainfall
When we hide indoors to hope, chat and play
Our warrior sleeps and dines with Dolus and Apate
At the seeming high and unconquerable heavens of Aso Rock

The smell of Jacob’s fart
Rummaging your senses to sweetness
Is the axe and curse that writes your story in proverbs
For when tomorrow shall come
Today will be but yesterday and
We will call you Reuben the cursed son of Jacob