When we sneak in darkest night <br />While men slip to the hut <br />Of Baba Awo, <br />It is no for greeting to the oracle <br />Or pleas for our sins. <br /> <br />When we cast the string and opele, <br />Wearing robes at the Orita, <br />It is not for joy <br />That we come. <br /> <br />When our robes are all in darks <br />And red rimmed with sacrifice, <br />We forget our wives at home, <br />Our children laden in innocent sleep. <br /> <br />It is not to look into the face <br />Of the melting sky <br />That we choose the darkest <br />Of the night <br />Entouraged by all the rams <br />That plead for us. <br /> <br />We come to Orita <br />We come with pot of sacrifice <br />We come bringing kola <br />Here is the salt <br />For your taste. <br /> <br />Oh Ancestors <br />We children of the soil, <br />We come pleading <br />Hear our pleas.<br /><br />macaulay akinbami<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/things-we-do-for-power/
