Between the heights of Orun and the sea,
A golden chain was lowered through the air.
A shell of earth, a bird of mystery,
Were all the travelers had the strength to bear.
The waters swirled, a vast and lonely blue,
Until the five-toed hen began to spread
The handful of the soil, forever new,
To make a floor where holy feet could tread.
The sixteen elders watched the world begin,
From that small point where land and water meet.
The air was thick with spirits, thick and thin,
Who felt the first vibration of the heat.
At Ife’s center, life began to crawl,
The sacred cradle of the one and all.
Sonnet 4: Ọbàtálá (The King of
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