THE CULTURE OF CUTE CITIES
THE BEAT by Gbadegesin Akeem Ayodele I beat and strike the drums of the shrines, its sounds never reach the listeners. As an hunter blow the whistle of the signals, the lost dogs never heed to call. I sing in the palace of seminated city, who will dance to my solo music? I become a barking dog in the wilderness it echoes never reached the city. The songs of an hidden room which is never heard in the world wings. The marks most be making to fulfill the missions of the moment memoires. Per chance, the calabash Carvers may carve words to the stores. The drummers may dream in the lyrics to be in the universal studios of the singers. The plyers may fly in a room of mind to travel all over the world again and again in a station. May be the universe known or never I most debut my words and works to the whole world. Abroad lands are never seen my tribe mold walls but through the imagining words and pictures. Bou...