To my Oga
by Tabansi Henry Ebuka
How time doest fly, when I stand under the rain,
Washing your gay fleet; how time doest fly, when
Blisters blemish, bombard my bloody vain,
Cleansing your feet, sponging unending, then
Molten thoughts, into monumental task,
Flee from binding fate, strip the sultry mask.
Oga, I have flown with time, away and
No hope returning, no hope rethinking.
Oga, no bother to wonder my place
Because I no owe you any shishi.
I can’t still lay back and pity my hand,
No space to spare the coal pot’s rebranding.
Oga, oath I stand, let this be your mace,
‘I don taya and owe you no shishi’.
by Tabansi Henry Ebuka
How time doest fly, when I stand under the rain,
Washing your gay fleet; how time doest fly, when
Blisters blemish, bombard my bloody vain,
Cleansing your feet, sponging unending, then
Molten thoughts, into monumental task,
Flee from binding fate, strip the sultry mask.
Oga, I have flown with time, away and
No hope returning, no hope rethinking.
Oga, no bother to wonder my place
Because I no owe you any shishi.
I can’t still lay back and pity my hand,
No space to spare the coal pot’s rebranding.
Oga, oath I stand, let this be your mace,
‘I don taya and owe you no shishi’.
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