OLOLADE: To the Casket Maker

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Swinging the hammer into the air,
Vomiting sounds – a disturbance to our ears,
Our helpless ears cannot but hear.
Bringing back our lost memories into fear,
As the casket maker hook-unhook
the hammer to the air…
Tremble as it rumbles the nail pleads for peace.

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Building our homes in the Rome.
In that casket our final destinations bestow.
Today, a day for the casket maker to design;
Tomorrow, that hidden certain day…
An ‘unescape’ route for the casket maker
To be consumed by his design…

Swing on the innocent hammer…
As you build our golden-wooden castle.
Our lifeless ensuit rest room
Cling it to your remembrance
That we are all victims of your hand-made


Do not copy or use the poem without the writer’s permission.


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