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THE WAR OF GODS (continuation) “‘I hurl, with deluges upon the land— To fill the marshes and lagoons, and stay For aye your impious war.’ Dawn came; the storm Was gone, and Old Arámfè in his grief Departed on black clouds. But still the wrath, But still the anger of his sons endured, And in the dripping forests and the marshes The rebel Gods fought on— while in the clouds Afar Arámfè reasoned with himself: ‘I spoke in thunders, and my deluge filled The marshes that Ojúmu (priestly or Divine Agent) dried; but still They fight. Punish, I may— but what can I Achieve? In Heaven omnipotent: but here—? What means it? I cannot tell… In the Unknown, Beyond the sky where I have set the Sun. Is He-Who-Speaks-Not: He knows all. Can this Be Truth: Amidst the unnatural strife of brothers The World was weaned: by strife must it endure?’ Oíbo (white man), how the first of wars began, And Old Arámfè sought to stay the flow Of blood— your pen has written; but of the days, The weary days of all that war, what tongue Can tell? […]And with the dawn Ógun (God of Iron. Son of Odúwa), the warrior, with his comrades stood Before the King, and thus he spoke: ‘Odúwa (King of men. Son of Arámfè), We weary of the battle, and its agony Weighs heavy on our people. Have you forgot The careless hours of Old Arámfè’s realm? What means this war, this empty war between One mother’s sons? Orísha (Creator of men. Son of Arámfè.) made it so, You say… “Twas said of old’ Who has no house Will buy no broom,” Why then did Great Orísha (Creator of men. Son of Arámfè.) Bring plagues on those he made in love? In Heaven Afar Arámfè gave to you the empire, And to Orísha knowledge of the ways Of mysteries and hidden things. The bag You seized; but not its clue—the skill, the wisdom Of Great Orísha (Creator of men. Son of Arámfè.) which alone could wake The sleeping lore… The nations of the World Are yours: give back the bag, and Great Orísha (Creator of men. Son of Arámfè.) […]’”
