Rites preceding the feast day; dusk time

When dusts of the district finds home with feets. They're still here,

chanting and dancing.

Ecclesiastical robes. Kabiyesi. The poor. The drummers.

Our crevices shall be fixed.  Why shouldn't we fete?

The women's baskets are full, men clinging their sacks to their chest - full of grains

But the barns are empty and the gourds are filled

Epic feast indeed, echoing into the fields

Tempting the gods and spirits to join

How many miles to the voting date, the feast day?

Gold dices,  casted behind curtains

Dispersed by the king

Thumbprints bought, conscience sold. No gain to thee thy seller

Festival over,  valiant men hypnotized

Their juju really worked. They Lion has roared happily. Ready to devour

With fearful tongues, salivary gland on strike

"I want my vote back" the chief priest murmured

The Lion roared "My dice and grains".

©Odukudu Felix