He is the chalybeate smith of Ogun’s dream,
Where parchment melts into a primordial flow,
A transubstantiation of the extreme,
In the chiaroscuro of the intellectual glow.
His prose is a thicket of thorny delights,
A palimpsest of talismanic and dense design,
Illuminating the long, Peninsular nights,
With a convoluted and sacred outline.
The road is a labyrinthine snare of shards,
A liminal passage of sparks and of staves,
But he stands amongst the ancestral guards,
And mocks the silence of the unmarked graves.
A monumental mind, an Ogunbound sun,
Whose maximalist task is never truly done.
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