Plastic Diamond
Behold the ancient diamond, not of crystal hue,
But yam, pounded with fervor, in a mortar’s sacred bosom,
A comestible with powers vast, unmeasured, divine,
Transformed by human might.
Stung by sweat and force, it yields to skilled hands,
Crafted into a fluffy paste, carved into the riddles of treasured folklore,
A regal guest in bowls adorned.
Beside it, steaming damsels, a culinary array,
Egusi, efo riro, and creatures lifeless in display,
Bleeding into stomachs, a feast of ancient haunt.
Yet, behold its fate in the GenZ’s cruel twist,
A plastic diamond, in iron blenders, it exists.
Tricked by electricity, molded by deceit,
Objectified, it loses essence in a rush.
They call it ‘Poundo’ like some frigid manque,
Now shackled, enslaved, in modernity’s game.
A pyrrhic victory, a loss profound,
For the pounded yam died from unnatural causes.
