ERU, THE SON OF NO ONE
Dust, the naughty son of the choleric wind
_At least he bears a father
So he roams Oba’s palace in a rather merry way
Should he not have learnt?
that Oba sits right there
before picking a lousy nap on the wooden royal chair…
“Get the rag!
Wipe it out!!”
-Oba would yearn just once
And Eru quivers to the royal assignment
Scrubbing the whole and already scintillating palace
Oh… Eru had to pay
For the rude attitude of the dust
With whom he lies when night falls again
Yet the choleric father came visiting last night
Raging with curse
“Cold, be upon Eru, the son of no one “
_when thunder called rain upon him…
But Oba cuddled on his warm dustless bed
Safe and sheltered from the angry storm
There… Eru was found when morning came
Lying flat on the naked floor
Perhaps, we heard him breathe once more
One breath of death…
