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Merchants of Greed


Charles Okafor

Dedicated to my bosom friend who got killed by ritualists.

A day has slept again,
As sunset cossets my weary eyes,
Whilst all around me on dead leaves fallen
Like rain drops on sun hit soils
The wetness of dew upon the ferns.
There within sacred walls and
Blood-red curtains of shrine-gods
Where red and black candles burn
Calling and chanting the fetish invincible
Stoops three merchants of greed,
With ringed fingers to their chest
And before the moon's eyes lies
Rock still at a machete point
The foul sacrifice of an innocent lad,
As raw blood from broken veins
Runs to find hungry earth.
Still the diviner calling for wealth,
And nightfall sweeps across the land.

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