"Holy Water" a poem by Bello Oluwasegun

Holy water is what we call it here
Its what some bishops carry under their robes
Walking to the alter with no fear
Of the father's probe
It's the liquid that appease the gods
When we pour,they swallowed it up
Demand for it beats all odds
It creates, instead of quenching hiccups
It is most preferred of any other
To rinse our body before praying
So we could sleep during prayers
For the water,on our behalf,is answering
Dare to retrieve from the poor,
Then he prefers death to that
The rich ask for more
Though it turns them into bats
Our bishops speak highly spiritual
Our native men demands it at all costs
Clerics use it for prayers
Our society without it is lost
It empties our flesh bit by bit
Our bones reveal its ugly self
We fall at night for the crowd to see
Of course, to us,they're just gonna laugh
Lo,you have said;it kills the young
Our fathers say; it wasn't used well
I don't think I will tag along
To visit its pleasant well
Lest I fall and do not rise again
Then there won't be a chance for me
To warn the rest that the gain
Of this liquid, is our loss.
-Baylow