The gods are hungry

Seven virgin's morning urine

in muddy_brown calabash

to quench the longer-ing thirst

of the gods xenorate lungs.

Seven brown bitter-kola

aligned with seven Kolanuts.

Seven gourds of fresh tapped palmwine,

flowing red oil and sprinkles of salts.

Before the sun walks to its abode.

Let's serve the deities,

with muddy_brown calabash

to plant the seed of a prosperous life.

Can't you see how life has become marred,

and how pockets encounter with drought?

Can't you here the wheeze wheeze of-

Our lineage ancestors singing

to our ears

  from 'morn till night'

to feed their gnarling stomachs?

Two bottles of aromatic schnapp 

escorts with laps of street dog

for the gods to wash their belly

and dust off the dirts on their throat

for it has been countable years ago

we've bowed and offer them our knees.

The gods are hungry,

let's feed them the misery and pains,

the tears that cascade from our eyes 

at dark nights when lamps run out of oil.

Lets serve their ears the sermon,

white folks told our Zeus long ago

before they hand over to them

our gods immortalized statue.

The gods are growling like a hungry wolf,

yet, they couldn't feed their sagged mouth

nor could they write the fate of their heirs.

The gods are drowning,

buried below the shallow rivers of shame,

masked with overflowing spits of jeers

no oil, no infant bloods and no head of dog

could save them from their own downfall.

©Khalid

®Sparrow