Birthed under the waxing crescent moon,
After rigorous nine moons in sacred shade,
Questions allude his new state
Thirst for answers,
hungered for power
Are the gods really to blame?

For the decisions made
To satisfy our selfish desires and opulent taste,
Painting our whole with shrouds of pain
Counting numerous losses as gains?
Are the gods really to blame?

For atrocities of royal blood
Whose throne were made,
Throne cursed with greediness, pestilence absurd
Leaving the masses in the uncertain hands of fate,
Are the gods really to blame?

For our un-tarred killer roads,
Neglected by the same ‘next to gods’
Whose purses are filled with ill-gotten riches,
Splashing the wealth across the border of our seas,
The gods are not to blame.

For our many pains
Created by tools they handed to us for our gains,
We are to blame
For our inordinate hate,
obsession for power that can’t be tamed.

IBRAHIM, YUSUF OLAWALE is a graduate of Urban and Regional Planning and an avid reader and writer. The title of my poem is