Ken Saro-Wiwa

Behind the mind of God
are His eyes that see all things

Your life expired, Ken--
without completion,
compliment of the uniform;
a rush to judgement,
a rush to boulevard of
dubious self-righteousness.

Tribal justice celebrates:
the carnival of gloating;
the hot iron melted;
a relief for the cheetahs.
Some made hefty loots, local and,
foreign minders of our ill-health;
the festival of treachery;
this their apogee of evil.

To the arrogant oligarchy,
little matters anymore,
echoes of Saro-Wiwa assail the world.

May his spirit forever torment your sleep
and castrate your manhood
on the bed of ignominy.
He who swallows a needle
will forever sleep standing up.
Whoever takes fresh garlic
will forever carry smells in the gut.
Ken, the galaxies worship your name.