To The Wordsmith
To the man with an instrument of war
by Oni Omotayo
I write with the heart of a king and of a priest
He is a kind with great and unfamiliar soul
Possessed with the spirit of the poet of old
There lies in him a descriptive power to unwritten revelations
And in him is a surge of expression that boils his vein
With burdens of a close century and tears of an impending fate
-That stirs a battle in the realm of his thought.
Let his ink strive all night that he may thrive all day
For he was born to instill the pages with length of
He is a chosen wordsmith, made the likes of the gods
He is the horn of the trumpeter, he come with the shout of a hero
He is the whisper of the setting sun, a titan at the edge of caution
He is the craftsman of the unbroken words, the trailblazer of the unmarred
He is a lamp that gleams with a difference,
An icon that stands for the privilege of the nations.
Give him the pen and them the sword that he can subdue the gate
Give him the minstrel seat and them the bow that he may champion the battle arena
Charge him with the mandate of this scroll that he may comprehend the enigma of my epistles
For by tomorrow he will earn a name or a shame
By the closing of time the scepter of verdict will vindicate or victimize his end
He was chosen for this course to be the author of the literature call true
Hurry! For humanity are on a journey to a lost eternity.
Spare some thought lend it to them whose mind is lost
To them whose wisdom is given to foolishness
In whose eyes the world lives
Say to the great unwashed at the helm of affairs
There is light beyond the gloom
Hope conceives her reward.
Spare some words lend it to them that has no voice
Men whose legacies were robbed
Who cried day after day where none can hear
Say to him given to the night
The merciful sees, the kind can hear
Be glad, for your friend is most gracious.
Spare some time lend it to them that has no chance
Go before now, ahead the tick of time
Upon the mountains of prophesies
See the world they could not see
The coming armies of woe
Foretell an omen they do not accept as true.
Spare some bread lend it to them with no food
Give from the banquet of your soul
Victuals of strength and potency
Haul his spirit in embrace of hope
Say to him you are my brother
Read the streams of expression spilled from my inkwell.
Spare some freedom lend it to them that are bound
Go all-out for the deliverance of mankind
Liberate him from the thralldom of influence
That which fasten his feet to the path of the common
Say to him, discover your scope
Break rank from men who do not go far.