The Pilgrim stone of a nine moons

May boomerang if thrown at our
Angelic Wishes,
As thou can scold the sweet timing
Of Time that was counted,
yet took us back to zero,
How do we also, do to the water?,

For If we think about The We: the You and
The Me that have had to squeeze a Milk-less
Droplets out of the breast of so many
skinny nights,

How do we also, do to the water?, which didn’t quench our thirst, instead broke the gourd?,
While we still have many rivers,
But our gourd- -broken’

Olánrewájú; they have called your existence
A glutton and failed to show you the recipe
Of life after being led to its kitchen,
Now, the morsel of life is a difficult one to

“Àmọ́ B’ọmọde oku, Agba ni ida”
A basin of green for you, those of who believe
Your morrow will be sweeter than the the last words
Of bitter leaf on the tongue…

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