Sires To Sons Poem by Ezio Olubelleau

This townspeople
Are falling steeper,
And no one ever dares to tread
Upon the sites of roads ahead.

And the city reeks of cheers—
A merchant hosting a rave,
Drank himself and house,
To stupor.

'Drink! " he drunk talk,
One son sip a poisoned soup,
Brewed for the devil's hosts,
Thinking it was brew,

Amidst the slurred
And drunken haze another—
A statesman time,
And his defiant sons
Seized the devil's gourd.

They rushed to a red-bricked house
Upon the hill of forgetfulness.
Emptying themselves.

Six gourds—
Sires to sons,
All at once.