Amputated windowpanes, never would close

Retreat I must into the sovereignty of the insecticide-treated net

Cellules within cellules

Sinister atmosphere

The night of the angels of doom.

Like the night of the killing of the Egyptian firstborns

The caliginous atmosphere is pregnant with mourning

Oh! My soul longs for the coming of the next morning.

Sound of spontaneous claps from the people of Ilé-ifè

Moans of affliction and tears of the ancient mammalians

Paint a horrendous picture of invading aliens.

A nightmare of terror

Darkness with horrendous horror

Forceful tenants swarming on legal occupants

Including the gods and idols of our forefathers.

The trust of the skin is betrayed by the night

As it welcomes these strangers into our world

Flying aliens from the grave of Sir Obafemi Awolowo.

The tenebrous darkness from on high

The deafening whispers of the night

All together make an awful sight.

Haunted day-to-day, darkness in every cellule

Royal bodies swaddled like Egyptian mummies

All looking silly like bloody dummies.

One more, two more, three ànkárá wrappers

The aso-òfì that spans from the feet to the face

I hate to say are nothing but a redundant waste.

Mosquito-proof garments in this part of the planet

Only arsenal for the night’s onslaught

Impotent defence of treasured dark and mullatto skins against flying aliens.

The imminent war of the night

Conjure the mind with an evil impression

Must I weep again for oppression?

Lost in the shadows of time

The sun refuses to lend its light

My God, what a night!

The metal pot is adorned

With dainty potato spud

But the strangers only feed on blood.

I wish to trade my tender skin for the mottled shell of Ìjàpá Tìrókò

And I envy the snake that sheds its skin

Monstrous red spots on my youthful chin

A souvenir from the bites of the flying beast.

The acrid odour of the mosquito repellants

Its charm like a hallucinogen.

An ultimate act of perfidy.

The stranger hums the songs of horror

In search of another noble victim

And buries its diabolical proboscis to suck blood like an evil colossus.

Mógbe o! Which kin creature be this?!

Streaks of the morning light

Daybreak creeps on brutalized skins of the people

Aftermath of the winged terrorists attack

Princes stuttering out of cellules

Dulling effects of previous night’s fiasco

Our elders say, “Only a mosquito would make a nice man slap his neighbor on the cheek.”

The Ifá Priest says they are the curse of the gods on every citizen

Mosquito — the dread of every indigene.

Cunning as a lustful damsel

Swift as the mountain gazelle

Riddle of the Elders

Unsolved mysteries of Sherlock Holmes

Creatures of Elédùmarè they are.