The old woman

There is a woman near Obaeware,
her hairs are gone and gray. Her tale was told of past deeds undone. Finally the flesh is ail and turn.

Begging to be lifted to mock, Seeking for food although full to fool. Larking causing calling ésú. The venoms she spit left their print .

Heiress of ancient power left abandoned. Dark room patrolled by a bored cat Withdrawn offsprings for safety from punish. Shielded away from daily doses of tongue latch .

There is a potency for kindness or evil in all. Occasions and assimilations nurtures. The blind has nothing to show another . A mothers movement is the baby’s step.

Oh my poor sober soul, here and there are bewildered. Things happens like flickers of embers A glorious step is the target of the great .
Ójìjì is the white man’s personality,

the one is the vital force and divinities, the other are walls of logic and rationality. Temperaments echoes chí through dadaism.
Ancestors now corrupted and the crushed snail.

Bitten old soul the desire to die unnoticed. Maybe insanity chains or agedness and boredom. What ever it is we are not what we are not. When you have no future you live in the past.

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