League Day 4, Round 3 – LOW18


Welcome to the final round of league Day 4.

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, Adeyemi Esther, & Edoziem Miracle slugging things out for the prize.

Theme For This Round is: Massacre


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 Story 1”, or “I Vote Story 2” or “I Vote Story 3”…

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

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


My body is a bomb site
Where my father was been buried without a coffin.
My room is the pool of blood
Where my mother fetched the water I drank from my childhood.
My heart has become a jungle of death
Where I killed myself every night before I go to bed.
My eyes is the lens of ghosts
That I used to see the corpse of my mother, brother & sister
Who will appease death not to come near my compound anymore?
Because it has made my house its sanctuary.
Who will make death forsake my home
As he has turn me to his customer
Who will stop this massacre?
So that I’d stop watering this land with the blood in my eyes.

Poem 2

Day of Mourning

At morning, they were celebrating,
The enemies were watching waiting,
They drank merry wine twas intoxicating,
They should have been praying,
This sudden attack, they were not anticipating.

Nightfall is coming,
We are ready and waiting,
The slowness of the day is really irritating,
Our hearts are hurriedly pulsating,
Look! The daylight is fading.

Time to start raiding,
Set their huts and barns blazing,
The bullets in our hands let’s start spraying,
Now they have began awakening,
But shall perish for the fire is suffocating,

Their Eves let us start raping,
They look so feeble and captivating,
Let us set their men officiating,
Ignore the little children wailing,
Still, the end of them all is awaiting.

This is our definition of crusading,
Subject the infidels to pain so excruciating,
Harass them in ways so humiliating,
Subject them all to unclean dismembering,
Leave their streams with blood overflowing.

Now that we are done annihilating,
Let us leave before the morning,
Of what use is waiting?
There is no one to mock participating,
For the land is silent on the day of mourning.

Poem 3


As I write this,
My pen no longer flow with ink
But with blood.
And tears no longer
Drip from my eyes
But my eyeglasses.
My pen is drowning in the blood of thousands
Who had lost their souls to these beings
In human forms.

Doom has been spelt on the land
As the cries of Bolanle
Still pierce through my heart
Like a double edged
When she was robbed of her life
By warriors with bare hands_
Whose hands were their weapons.

My pen is drowned in the blood of
Pregnant women
Who got killed with foetuses
That had no chance
Of living.
To destinies that got killed
Even before their birth,
And placentas that got
Buried in their mother’s womb
With no chance to feel the soil.

Death has become a regular
Visitor in our land
Even when his presence remains unwelcomed.
Yet he strides into the land at will
And offer up the bodies of our great ones
As sacrifices to mother earth.
As I write this,the piecing screams of Bolanle
Still torments me
As I stood helpless
Watching life ebb out of her
Like water in a broken bottle.

Poem 4

That Dining Table

We asked for water
They gave us red wine !
Pouring from people’s pores !
Bleeding from their veins !

And we toast !
To a country !

We asked for food
They gave us red meat !
Sliced from people’s fat !
Heavy with their calories !

And we eat !
To our country !

Our country is
On That Dining Table !

The country is us !
And not the people !
So we sleep !
And they work !

We have a country
That Dining Table
And one servile nation
The people



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