League Day 11, Round 2 – LOW18

League Day 11, Round 2 – LOW18

Welcome to the second round of league Day 11.

League Of Wordsmiths is an initiative of Whyke Anthology which began last year. Serving as a means of promoting poetry, story writing…and art as a whole, across Africa, whilst also serving as an aid for young, budding, aspiring…writers in the African diaspora.

This round is for the poetry category, and would see Edoziem Miracle, Faleke Oluwatoyin, and Oni Tomiwa slugging things out for the prize.

Theme For This Round is: GENOCIDE

RULES:

1) Judges Decision takes 80% of the total decision, while votes recorded from voters takes 20% of the total decision.

2) Under no circumstance should you guess the owner of the individual stories.

3) Voting lasts for 24hours.

4) Only Votes recorded in the comment section of this post remains valid.

5) Vote using “I Vote poem 1”, or “I Vote poem 2” or “I Vote poem 3”…

6) A voter is allowed to vote maximum of 2 poems out of the 3 contesting poems.

7) The contestants are urged to invite friends to vote for them. No rule exempts you from canvassing for votes.

Let The Game Begin!… May the best story win.

Poem 1
Genocide

G-reat minds now lay here, who were
E-liminated from life without their consent
N-ever would they have authored their stories this way because,
O-f them, kings could have been made,
C-hiefs or maybe chairman
I-ndifferent were the men who murdered them
D-eath on the basis of politics, tribe and social status
E-nding their lives like the letter that ends GENOCIDE

Poem 2
Pogrom

This is what happens
To a survivor of genocide

Not many are left to sing the coronach
Only a boy dragging his mother
To a shallow grave.
A boy shutting in himself
All the pains of the universe—
Hoping to one day give wings
To the naked stories in his throat.

He could still see how the whole world
Was scourged to death
By some men of a planet
Too distant for peace, too dark for love.

He could hear his father’s last wish
For revenge from between the debris.

He never saw their faces,
But he muttered patiently
Those names that will never leave his lips
And he hopes to someday teach his descendants
How to fill eardrums with horror
And how to repay the benevolence
Of those who robbed him of his past.

Poem 3
What I Know

I know I know
Let me tell you what I know
Look at em body parts
Red porridge flesh
Bloody voices
And noisy blood streams
The banquet of raw meat
On this land-plate that will ripen no more
Look at the dreams shredded by swift swords
Potentials in pots turned into the ash
My egg was boiling amongst theirs
When strange melodies and scary mouths
Swallowed them whole
I know I know
Let me give you a view into the hole
The roots into their souls
And the sour blades it drank
See our roses with scissored petals
Floating in this sour swirl of dry dust
And spilled essence
I know I know
Because I am one of these homeless parts
One of the trails of blood
Sinking into the earth
Carrying with me an image
Of foreign foes and shiny silver
And our bodies being
Eager receptors for their deathly blows

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