Welcome to the final round of league Day 13.
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 Aremo Jah, Ayinmode Mercy, Dipe Jola, and Edoziem Miracle slugging things out for the prize.
Theme For This Round is: Goodbyes, Good Byes.
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 4 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.
GOODBYE’S GOOD BYE*
Farewell is not the song of goodbyes
It’s a song to tell the world good by.
When I close my eyes and cannot see
The light of mornings nor darkness of nights,
Bid me not farewell
For I wouldn’t really leave the world
My voice would speak to the next generation
About the colours life wears itself.
This gospel I preach is not for me
Because devil has no room in my heart.
We’ve parted ways ages ago. His ways are not mine.
We’ve shared goodbyes, good by.
I am sacred to say “goodnight”,
Scared of the horrors it may invite,
The tears it might bring to sight,
And the sorrow it might alight,
That is why…
I desist from saying “goodnight.”
When she said “goodnight,”
I understood why I was uptight,
Now I knew what the night invites,
Pain, sorrow, tears…
And other emotions of this kind.
On her last night, she said “goodnight”
With a tear hidden behind her smile,
She smiled because she knew well,
“Goodnights are never goodbyes”.
Goodbyes, good byes.
We’re wearing our black so loudly
With tears as a means of necklace
Holding bouquets of scented flowers
With a dead beat mind of survival
Arriving at the field to carcasses
Of little children and older adults
The butchery and the echoes of bullets
Our body is wearing off slowly with history
We say the prayers to these offerings
How Lucifer always wanted it to be
We’ve channelled them to the Lord
But I still wonder who will pray for us too
Everyone is leaving, cars zooming off
The trekkers with a bottle of water
My legs are not moving, can’t think
That this is really the end for the dead
This question must get up there to Him
“are we going to keep dying like this?”
I would write an elegy for this carnage
Because this body keeps sinking me
Like star lights, you’d shine on in hearts
Like moonlight stories, your tales won’t die
Like fireflies, you’d burn in our memories
This day, we’d hold for generations.
To our memories
To our brothers
To our soldiers.
A Writer’s Cry
Two sturdy parchments
That do not let
The peppery syrup
Brimming in my heart
Held widely apart
Pulled by sure worlds in non-existence
Till my bones speak
In a juicy pop
Bloody smiles and sinewy teeth
Along my chocolate skin
Just how I can cope
Whisper to the whispers
Laughter to the jester in my brain
Tell me how I can pope
The standard I in the halls
Was I ever good
Of pen depression
A writer’s inferiority complex
A quest for purpose
Parched throats for
The gleeful studs of identity
Just let the fingers move and
The pen dance
Then my body gyrates
Before an unworthy scrawl
I squeeze the paper
Then circle the cycle