By
Noel Ihebuzor
Ten hundred prayed for posts
Twenty pastors and thirty prophets
Prayed and brayed almost
Ten of the prayers, the preyed upon,
the prayed for, got the posts
And prayed on the post
Preyed on the people
All ten had juicy morsels
generously availed, padded
nine chewed their morsels and swallowed
morals mellowed, conscience shriveled,
cheeks blossomed and wardrobes overflowed
in a season of drought and bones
the tenth chewed and sucked,
till nought was left, save chaff and fibre
spat out, never swallowing
cheeks blossomed, morals mellowed
conscience in contraction
tongue active in denial
And she sweet sings herself
the beatification chorus for saints
I spat out and therefore am a saint
chew and swallow mean guilt
singing with a tongue that runs and rails
foams white and fumes
raw tongue running with serums of guile and rage,
shored up by fluids and anima
sucked out of now chaffed morsels
entrapped in self praise,
the singer forgets
that Mother Theresa
did not sing sainthood
to be sainted
If self praise is all it takes to be sainted,
then horses would be flying over low anthills
and praise singing themselves hoarse
to the thundering music of their noisy hoofs
rivaled by the grunting of pigs wearing cheap scents
rooting for sainthoods for cleanliness
Reflections 