Buhari: The Supremacy of the Heavens, by Uthman Shodipe-Dosunmu

Now it’s gone; Forbidden from the present, eclipsed in the impersenable uterus of time and space, blocked in an unknown eternal permanence that all mortals must reside invariably, by contacting the skies our stay in this transitional kingdom.

Now it is superior to all of us in the fullness of its new clashes, in the humiliating summative greatness that must now contest, hidden also by those who still pretend to be a mastery of our paths that are still confusing.

Now it is a moral of our collective finitude, a distinctive emblem of our ephemeral necessary; Our maximum cordon indifferent to the position, canceling power, stopping ambition, interrupting the physique, turning on our inevitable transition from the deadly frame.

If the emptiness of man must always come, if the eternal shadow does not exist, because then he owes power to delude himself with the Certies of the sky: unbelievable and save, reckless and triumphant, resolved in an imperturbable root, believing that the conquest is made, knowledge of all sanction times.

But the incredible purpose of death tells us that the lying of power deformed in the Ilrogico of the moment, distorted by the assigrates of the present of the present, blinded by compartments and Swoon actors, all curled up in a game by eliminating mercenaries, who greet Hosannah in sacrifice opportunism.

And when power believes in the self-defined truth, when power is looking forward to adapting to one’s tradition, there is that fictitious creation of an absence of death, in unsurpassed it could be engraved in concrete.

But, prays, is there some intertwined man in an infinite latitude, is there any power grabbed in an unconscious eternity of the skies?

Alessandro di Macedonia, Xerxes of Persia, the Cesare of Rome, Kubla Khan, Ghenghis Khan, Attila The Hun, Chaka The Zulu, the Hindu monarchs of the old and of all the warriors in search of centuries gone, both brutable and praisters, have dedicated themselves, but they remained pearls from the consequences and the complaint of the mother’s soil.

And still power does not learn from yesterday’s men. It is still perceived in infallible exceptionality, intertwining in the giant philistine; not to be conquered, don’t fall, to reign forever!

But in the end, death defeats the myth of power, hitting in the terminal fury, indifferent to any reason, shocking, saving with a purpose that no one can contest.

Time, the place, we don’t know. Here too the oracle is defenseless, in the end confirming the supremacy of the skies for all things.

So what should the fatal man do while in this kingdom? To appreciate one’s temporality, regardless of the height it can ascend, recognizing the fragility of one’s own frame, knowing that the destinies are unfathomable, that the will of the skies cannot be influenced or challenged by the command of a thousand artillery or by the debasing of filigree of wealth, which the leveling must come when the knights catch.