By Christy Ademide Adelowo
It’s time to clad my heart against your match
It’s time to blow off the fire that gives it life
It’s another March
And the clock refuses another year a strike
Or will there still be an Hogmanay?
Maybe then, my hands won’t read the sign on your face
Of wars with rivalries pouncing like a roach
Of carved chess chiselled for a poach
Fastest fingers clamping in-between
Reaching out only for you, my king
Tell me, this encroachment?
Was I the one who planted the seeds of
Blindingly contending with grasping fangs
That has come upon you, ubiquitous Akilapa?