With It Poem by Haruna Garba

He has his bait with-it-coated
The rogue angel has his bait
Concealed in with-it mentality
Sharp hooks in a fishing line

I nibble
You nibble
All nibble but a few
But ultimately, greed will win
And it does win

Smoke raised in the occident
Heavy as the clouds
Travels to the orient
Where it thins out
Sniffed by denizens all around

He has his bait with-it-coated
The rogue angel has his bait
Coated in unavoidable catastrophe
Flowing, playing super glue part
To have one stuck
And remain stuck

I get stuck
You get stuck
All get stuck but a few


The Atlantic, the Pacific
Nay, the Indian Ocean
Hold naught but acacia juice
Cynically flowing cyclically, globally
Naught shall go unstuck

He has his bait coated with-it
The rogue angel has his bait done
In the strongest magnetic flux
To snatch you field-wise
And there to remain drawn

I am snatched
You are snatched
All get snatched save but a few

She has buried core-wise
Our dear earth has it buried
The strongest magnetic field
So much so that birds themselves
After all nibbling precautions
Eventually fall home

With-it
With-it
I am with-it
You are one
That is his tool
The rogue angel's sure tool


He who wants to have you
Where he wants you
Has his sure way
Coming from the back door
To make you turn it
In to your front door
Offers you tools
Of killing the kin
And of stifling the norms

If you know not better
Than to show up
You are a fallen prey
To the machinations of the rogue
For he makes it his business
To blend black with white
Turning brother against his kin

Priding on an ear to the ground
On having the first hug
Of every heralded, shady, airy thing
Coming from the far ends of the world
Vulnerable you are
Brother, you are vulnerable
To the worm in your apple self