No Remedy for Omóye
At birth was she glamorous
In no time did she rise to
Become their apple of the eye.
Many fruits sprout out of her
As evidence of her fruitfulness
Other whores grew envious.
Her downfall they plotted well
Her lunar flow flowed unceasingly
And lunacy they planted in her.
In broad daylight she tore herself
Making open what honoured her
While the foes watched in delight.
To the market she went that day
And never came back home
We kept searching till date.
No remedy for Omóye again
To the market she’d gone to
And now she’s a laughing stock.
Bard Tosin Morakinyo