Picture By: BBC Culture.


(blow the horn in four folds)…

right leg first… then the left,
mind takes its place… and so does fact.
sway with me before this altar,
where I chant a thousand times over,
repeating till I am lulled into a false sense of security.
Àre! Àre!! Àre!!!


let a man become fire,
the first of which burns and the last of which dies.
let a soul enter into a soul and hold immortality by the scruff of the neck.
call him a general,
coloured with strings of crests and medals.
possessed by the very gods of our lands,
one whose shadow-swift movement would loosen any stronghold.


roll the dice… it’s a new era!
for crests and medals now decorates dusty tombs,
where men of orthodoxies have gone beneath the rubble,
replaced by ceremonials; ill-equipped.
and a title of time immemorial is now fading into insignificance.


Àre! Àre!! Àre!!!
a symbol that becomes less and less real.
falling into curves marked out by politics,
to break away into sharp spikes that pierces our beliefs.
on this altar are scrolls of mockery,
read in red flames for our gods to behold.
Aàré! Aàré!! Aàré!!!


sway with me before this altar,
left leg first… and then the right,
as we sink into this abyss￾the ònàkakañfò facade.
all wail
our generalismo.

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