When we sneak in darkest night
While men slip to the hut
Of Baba Awo,
It is no for greeting to the oracle
Or pleas for our sins.

When we cast the string and opele,
Wearing robes at the Orita,
It is not for joy
That we come.

When our robes are all in darks
And red rimmed with sacrifice,
We forget our wives at home,
Our children laden in innocent sleep.

It is not to look into the face
Of the melting sky
That we choose the darkest
Of the night
Entouraged by all the rams
That plead for us.

We come to Orita
We come with pot of sacrifice
We come bringing kola
Here is the salt
For your taste.

Oh Ancestors
We children of the soil,
We come pleading
Hear our pleas.

macaulay akinbami

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/things-we-do-for-power/