IKONIFIN

She sits cadaverously in the dust of her ruins

After the whips of civilization have purged her Of her epic glory.

Though some of her survived

The lashes, but what is left is indeed a mirage.

She used to be the favorite of her gods,

Her womb was the home of five divinities

She worshiped them at the feet of Oke Isero

Where, at the turn of the Kola, the farmers would
Chant the homage of Orisha Oko and plead for bountiful harvest.

She taught her children the tenets of Sango, Eshu and Ogun 
With her hands stretched wide, 
she would receive the blessings Of Ifa, 
and in the heat of the night she would rise Like Osun goddess to the call of her lover

Her market was watched by one-eye daemon that lurked in the forest: in his hands was her safety.

But the whip fell on her hard and fast

Civilization came in when she wasn’t expecting

The Queens cannon, faraway, crumbled her wall of defense

Her soil dried and cracked when the bulldozers and the graders Led by evangels came.

The asphalt carpet given her led Her children astray. 
The world she knew became a Landscape of confusion and worry. 
She cries to her gods,

But the grumbling mountain tells her she missed their rapture.

Her stories are now to travelers who walk through her ruins.