You died today, praying about your tomorrow, singing praises to the creator of the mightiest of thrones.
You bit on kola nuts, like you said our forefathers did, saying the flattering praises of Obatala.
You smiled at the claps of thunder, you said it’s your prayer delivery report from Sango.
Your eyes dimmed from the brightness of the tomorrow you saw from the binoculars of your today.
‘Prepare yourself son, for you are one of the leaders of tomorrow.’ You said amid laughter after that rainfall.
It’s painful that you died before tomorrow, and more heart wrecking that I had begun to pour liberation to the gods,
hoping that one day, your grandson will be that leader I was destined.