Dead In The Clutch Of Power

Thou mighty wind
How powerless art thou over the tiny shrubs and grass of the field
Thou strong , giant and tough tree
How helpless art thou before the mighty wind.
Power is but an element of vulnerability

Of the finest wine
Of the god in the bottle
Even if I have it from dawn till the day is old and tired
I may become drunk
But never as intoxicated as I become after a smattering of power.

My table is set
My meal is ready
Fresh egocentricity garnished with a spoonful of power
My tumbler overruns from the superfluity of my haughtiness
Who lives after such banquet?
A feast on venoms.

Such bitterness enfolded in sweetness
The mere perception of its aroma yields a burning ardor and yearning for more
The sweeter, the deadlier.

It makes the timid fearless
It makes the weak dauntless
It makes the shy audacious
Yet the one thing you would keep
It would not spare- your soul.

In the corridor of power
There are two seats
One for you
One for death.


Written by:
Egunjobi Precious Olorunfemi


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