I

He varnished second of the seventh winter,
The north went frozen and media lost her voice,
And the fading day startled winter cold,
For man that glitters gold lost his poise,
Although deep in hearts of a desert land,
His heart went still on his ailment demand.

Afar from his demise,
South fled east above the west,
Hitting the North right in her chest,
As truths journeyed out the skies,
Lies put on their shoes in their nests,
By virtue of hymn and weeping thoughts,
An orator was emptied of his words.

II

You were black like us,
Your words lived it all;
You were crystal and clear,
Even the air had to fall.

Yusuf traversed the landscape of giant;
To carve a folk self reliant,
He never was defiant,
But his words spurred inane,
Minds into brains,
And sear gassy hearts to grains,
You said no gain without pain,
I wish the folk trailed that lane.

But things fall apart,
And her center doesn't hold,
As looting won her heart,
Depravity unwilling to fold...

III

From dusts we have come,
And dusts we shall become,
Someday death dies,
But this day marks your turn.

Oh earth, lay your bed,
Yusuf Maitama is laid to rest,
The Nigerian voice set to lie,
Barren in words; speechless.

Sagacious shame,
Peers from every black face,
Sneers from the other race,
Audacious game.

Tow an elder, tow statesman,
Trail his thoughts and travails,
Into the hearts of a virgin land,
Else weaker truth prevails.

In the heart of the desert,
Let the hymnals depart,
In the silence of the night,
Let his quiet grave ignite.