POEMS, NEWS, PUN AND FUN

His hands aren't too short to save, Neither his path too crooked to pave  Nor feeble to us the mind he gave Blessed be who believes without erring Foolish indeed who judges just by hearing God loves Africans they alleged Not wondering how that news was heard He hails from us historians have said But the foreigners proclaimed him to us I had read Where is the truth in this message Or it's all at the mercy of a heresy? You have a child with deformity we were told, A son of about thirty minutes old, Being our first time is why we felt cold However, if Fennel and I were then bold This story wouldn't today unfold. With nurses mimicking the unfortunate road he plied, Its Iris appear red, brown, yellow like dyed. Simply, our kid was declared a one eyed As the doctor made retarding sighs While examining his left and right eyes. Amidst fear, panic and fury, And a child in my arms like armoury, We left without hearing the doctor's caution, That sunlight was a blend concoction Loc...

We the fortunate ones Those who weren't sanitized at once At least from biblical pandemics Those anointed theological comics  Black sheep in the day, white wolf at night We were saved anyway, by grace not might. It hasn't been any different from what I sought, That bottle of oil my wife had bought To save our son we gracefully begot. Borges was our patrimonial argot But He asked, "Is that all you've got" Who then is He? The man who baptized we. "He" represents all false prophets, Who studied the holy pamphlets And to amass for their own pockets, Deceive the religious illiterates To unbind any ties with soul mates Hence, sanitizing their thinking cups. Unless you buy my oil, This child will soon be in the soil. This is how we lost hope Our faith in him was so dope Trusted he could help us cope, Bishop Corona was only an expired coke Who had semblance of a good Pope.