Declaring to our noddle to clear their oodles while pretending to pet their poodles, we are now at Rome in our dome, The quest for the chest in their nest is an investment in the rest, We jest will test the pests.
Shape-shifting media Skink I have spotted you long before you saw me. So, if you turn into a python, I will turn into big sharp needles. If confronted by a lion, I will turn into an elephant through your shape-shifting exploit.
If you turned into an elephant, I would turn into soldier-ants.
Turn into a fire, and I will turn into a river.
Upon you turning into a rock, will make me turn into lava.
My blood is as bitter as the spleen and inedible.
There is nothing to be gained here but pain that will linger in your brain, unable to be washed out with rain.
Oh, media of gloom the weapon of mass deception, the cesspool of human misery, temple of fear.
My dear Media, with this spell, I banished thee.
I Saw You Black History
You switch on your vulgar-infused smile and spread your tattered mat for my aching feet. Like a curious bird, I swooped down to take a closer look. Black culture, I saw you bemused like an alligator without a single tooth.
The slamming clarion of Muslim mosques,
The enchanted hymns of Christian churches,
The melodic rhythm of divination priests,
And the satanic clamour of mainstream media.
Black history, I saw you like a tiger without its claws.
We are all infected with propagandist spells based on spiffs like rolling a spliff and making a fist which caused a rift, thereby costing us the feast while sifting the yeast and grabbing the wrist of the beast residing in the east.
Black heritage, I saw you like a canoe without its paddles.
African leaders pontificating and perambulating like peerless pangs,
They assimilate the perception of their deceivers to the degree of obsequiousness.
Based on Parergon's knowledge of their ancient history and not the Pantagruelian version.
Meanwhile, their western handlers have stimulating banter with the punters, on the stories of hunters of immortals, cluttered with a clatter
and must be shattered like a matter of mad hatters.
Black elite, I saw you like a cobra that has lost its fangs.
African religious bigots and their assumptions based on horror from the error that mirrored the terror, turning from editor to the auditor and predators of the matadors, clinging to the ring that no longer has bling.
Oh, fake people of the cloth and masters of deception, I compelled you to stop your descendants, who are all dependents plus make their spitting redundant, to spare the young mind of the contestants.
Oh Okra, mighty vegetable, use your slime to make the venomous spit miss the timing of the distance and hit the ground in an instant.
African preachers, I saw you as an emperor without his apron.
Unethical politicians presiding over schools lacking students,
Tables without meals and roads full of potholes.
And night, ha, it comes with the excruciating rumble of supperless stomachs,
The unmistakenly bang of angry guns,
The occasional bawling of weeping wives,
The loud rumble of verbal jousting,
The brainless policy of teaching our children about the glory of foreign deities while having a belligerent attitude towards their own,
African elite, I saw you like a dog obsessed with eating its tail.
Shape-shifting media Skink I have spotted you long before you saw me. So, if you turn into a python, I will turn into big sharp needles. If confronted by a lion, I will turn into an elephant through your shape-shifting exploit.
If you turned into an elephant, I would turn into soldier-ants.
Turn into a fire, and I will turn into a river.
Upon you turning into a rock, will make me turn into lava.
My blood is as bitter as the spleen and inedible.
There is nothing to be gained here but pain that will linger in your brain, unable to be washed out with rain.
Oh, media of gloom the weapon of mass deception, the cesspool of human misery, temple of fear.
My dear Media, with this spell, I banished thee.
Black academics still classify the study of our ancient deities as primitive and satanic while insisting that Greek mythology is classical.
Plus the insolency of calling them primitive, barbaric and uncivilised, when they have begotten many ancient writing systems to the human race,
These assertions would lead to famine in farming from lands begotten, with fields forgotten, and plants unplanted from seeds unseeded by weeds, demanding bees for fees.
Black educator, I saw you like a snail minus its shell.
Oh, colonial masters, cluttering our crown with their chronic chaos and spinning our spirits into spineless spooks,
For innocent he was not, the pope of the third issuing the dictums of killing them all, and all of them that the lord will recognise his own when his home alone.
The frightening freaks they found and flung were fast and furious, sometimes superior and hailed as heroes in the hall of Paul.
Their erroneous history in mystery is cryptically risky on the lips of Iscariot, the Judas jettisoned, jiggling and juggling like jagged Jake,
The destruction of Benin's wall and the Nsude pyramids,
To hide the ancient glories of our dear departed ancestors.
Declaring to our noddle to clear their oodles while pretending to pet their poodles, we are now at Rome in our dome,
The quest for the chest in their nest is an investment in the rest,
We jest will test the pests.
Colonial masters, I saw you like a wolf in sheep's clothing.
Alas, in African countries, the almighty is not angry with you but, your ancestors are.
For the wanton destruction of their sacred land,
For exchanging their ancient philosophy for meaningless isms,
For the gradual depreciation of our moral compass,
For the relentless corruption of our spiritual awareness,
For conscious and subconscious desecration of their holy sites,
For the looting of their ancient monuments,
For turning their signs of literacy, proudly worn on their faces signifying unity into tribal marks, the signature of disunity,
Making it easy to be dangled from a mangle of tangles,
At an angle with a candle sitting on a bangle,
With a shackle on their ankles and displayed on the mantle in the temple,
Forced to eat an apple laced with poisonous maple or was is staples, terrible samples not quite ample.
African countries, I saw you like a diamond that has lost its sparkle.
Almighty Lord, let the healing process begin through our ancestors with the power of nine.
Thereby, we invoke the forces in this immensely powerful numeral and symbol.
The numeric value given and allocated to the head of the Masters of Cycles and Lords of Men, the speed of light, universal tune, the pregnancy term of human babies, is a 360-degree circle, and all it contains, like time and angles.
For each of the Eight Natural Law principles equates to nine by adding the ascending and descending order of the individual principle,
Starting from ground zero, the earth, which is a circle and moving swiftly upward to the root (Material and Physical Plane), many are stuck here and can never escape.
Then, moving up a level to the spleen (The Plane of Force), controlling our aggression and freeing ourselves from fear of men and spear.
The next step is the ascension to the solar plexus (The Spiritual Plane), the home of Mystic Philosophy.
Followed by upward elevation to the heart (The Plane of Devine Love),
Then, another upward level to the throat (The Plane of Devine Truth),
Followed by another ascension to the pineal gland (The Plane of Devine Reality), the third eye,
Then, another upward elevation to the pituitary gland (The Gateway of Mind and Body), the crown.
The final elevated level is the plane of separation of the mind from the body and unification with the most-high.
The unity of our mind with the highest form of self,
Plugging our soul into the universal circuit of consciousness, the Almighty,
Repairing our bad-lucks,
Rekindling our shrunken spirit,
Freeing our visions from the veils of deceit,
Assimilating power from all things superior above and all things inferior below,
And breathing, thinking, and seeing as one with ALL.
Written and Illustrated by S A Akinyemi
