Poetic Side with Bolaji: Lamentation of the Dying Wig

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Bolaji

A fruit that will ripe and shed someday

Like a yellow leave in the belly of Autumn,

Let it prepare itself for the long fall.

A bird that will soar across the Mississippi

From its start to its end,

Let it prepare itself for the eternal flight.

A wig that will live and die someday

Like a common cockroach in my cupboard,

Let it prepare its grave from the first day of its life.

 

With the passing remnants of my breath,

I took a quizzical look at my life and the law.

In the days of my physico-mental prowess

I was the law as it is,

Still I was the law as it ought to be.

I had the balls of law in my fisted hands:

The song I sang was the law

The tune I played was the law

The language I chose must be law’s.

The rhythms I played were laws.

 

Ask me how many times I raped Themis,

Of her ways, her sways and her days

And I will say I have lost counts.

For me to strike an opponent from behind,

Themis must remove her blindfold at my will.

For me to hijack the course of justice at pleasure,

Themis must drop the scales

And just wield the sword without a measure.

 

I was the Sango of the legal profession,

The Thor at the centre of the Bar

The Zeus to other gods at the Inner Bar

The Irumole that threw the Bench off balance

The Chief Intimidator to legal under-growths

The rewriter of legal verses and stanzas

The composer of the anthem for the profession.

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Now…

Age and the forthcoming compulsory wage

Have enclosed me in an eternal cage.

With the passing remnants of my breath

And my foot in the grave,

I wish I could relive and amend my sour ways

And the poisonous infections of my sways

And the contagious impositions of my days

Till a light from above will blossom my bays.

If Providence will not answer my calls

And the wages of my sin shall be death,

Then let my epitaph reads as thus:

‘He sold his soul and modesty to the Devil

 He won and ruled the legal battle for long

 But when he planned to retire and be civil

The Devil put a nail across his tongue’

 

A fruit that will ripe and shed someday

Like a yellow leave in the belly of Autumn,

Let it prepare itself for the long fall.

A bird that will soar across the Mississippi

From its start to its very end,

Let it prepare itself for the eternal flight.

A wig that will live and die someday

Like a common cockroach in my cupboard,

Let it prepare its grave from the first day of its life.

 

Bolaji Ramos, Esq.

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