Their bodies float on the surface of deep waters

And at night we hear them call

They read to us manifestos

Of how nice it is in the water

Many of us go in

To become oracles of their enchantment

Carrying on our heads their barely breathing bodies

While we beg for leftovers of air

Passed down from their rotting carcasses

The gods have drowned

And so has our will to live

Chained to the destinies of those who can’t help us

Winniefred F. Gbemuotor