a poem by Oredola Olamilekan Ibrahim, Nigeria

Good Friday
Caught amidst my muddled thought
Another thought daring my central thought;
Behind my heart in it’s hide and seek
The rosary in the hand of the dozing one like…
To day…. An exceptional one I know
What makes it so, I do not know
The gloomy view of the weather
And silent that be the atmosphere
On the minaret a sonorous tone
Of the muezzin, breaking that silence
Oh! Today is jumat, a holy day.

But it kept telling me, that thought
There is more to it, this particular day--
Then I remember those three hours of darkness
And the thoroughly stripped apart curtain
Now, am I fully come to the grip?
Today is the Good Friday….
No! A bad Friday!

You make yourselves the king of the Jews
Through unlawful Kola here and there
Treading the haram route to the halal crest
Still we your disciples have no choice
Other than to acclaimed you our messiah.

Yet to that realm seat we set you forth
Sitting around you like saviour in his twelve
And have you a Shepard to us meek sheep
We render to Caesar all that he owns.
We that are more than you;
In age, in sage in wisdom and in might;
Have acclaimed you our counselor.

How ungodly you turned out to us
With so much trust and faith we give
All our treasure have you stole
And we wallow in poverty plunged pool.
Because of gold and silver:
You gave us this paltry bread; you’d call your life
This worthless wine; you’d call your blood
And this reckless words “The grassroots’ servant”
Enough! These ridings on this Trojan- horse!
While we cry for food,
You kept hidden those seven loaves
And fishes, and starve we four hundred!
Eureka! We are at fault, to loose the door
And welcome the squirrel to a groundnut full store!
Hadn’t be we have given you the gun- water
With your blood Ogun would have bath!

But it’s not yet over, for you’ve betrayed us
You promise to demolish the temple and rebuild
It in three days! But you’ve failed us!
The temple’s been demolish and we stray about
Like a wanderer having no cover over our soul.
Come to our rescue our ancestors, the real serving men of yore;
These serving men, a disgrace to our stand
He’s an enemy of the highest realm…
He must be crucified! He must be crucified!

He must be crucified!
His trial useless, we want him crucified!
We want him crucified! But we want him crucified
Neither Pilate nor Herod should try him lest they be mendacious and made him a free man.
Release to us the famous filcher; Kill him!
Made free Aninih; crucifies him the traitor
Though Barrabas a robber, vivid it is
We know the thrower, and we know where to throw
But the traitor friend, under pretension of a saver real
Bring us back our crown; give him a cross.

He must be crucified! He must be crucified!
Right from his seat, the Kidron valley;
And his crony, I pray, cut their hearing
To the Gol’gotha bearing his cross,
Crucify him; crucify them;
The whole lot that betrayed us
Crucify them, part their garment
For their cloth cast a clear lot
Give us back our crown and pride
Place on those heads a crown of scorpions.
Pierce their sides with the spear
And let their blood flow to propitiate their filth
Let them cry in satanic doom,
To be an exchange for those thousands wails.
And their remains keep in the mausoleum…



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