Pick A Die From The Dice


He rarely speaks,
when he does, his words are scanty.
He rarely shows emotions,
When he does, his voice are high on mountains.

When the night comes, and the moon is up
You find him enjoying his unusual relationship with solitude,
Within the confines of his obi.
He’s the sacred unmasked masquerade of his household,
dishing out prophecies, and whipping out foul spirits.

His feelings are never raining,
He believes too much water would spoil his soup.
His daughters grow far away in their mothers hut,
And his sons know only to hide their sweet feelings,
It was a taboo for Men to act soft.

Victor Oyedele

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December 16, 2022
December 16, 2022