Where do we run through, o traveler?
Hooded silhouettes have taken our paths
Strewn our dark ways
And the grey above
With receptacles of blood and limb.
The crawling arthropods get us nowhere
But a land of missed contracts, rheumatism
Breathless too, the waters will be
Till Olokun begins to dance
With the trident and the wreathed horn.
Where then, traveler, do we pass?
They thrust their craft into the clouds
To ride behind the gods’ backyard
And feigned surprise to see their vice
Tossed back to earth by wrath divine.
Since earth and air with fire connive
And water will not betray kin
Where, brother, shall our souls be safe?