₦airaland Forum

Irawe (Dry leaves)

Falling dry leaves do speak when found
Dancing in arctic wind journeying to the ground
When shrubs renounce her conjugative hand to death
She rustles giving up her murmuring breath

When the Mother Tree bears a handful of leaves at the apex,
Some murmurs in a condescending tone
to the rear leaves and those beneath whose struggling
fingers refuse to touch the sweet branches
or yet to savour the nutrient of the loamy humus
or whose voyage are yet to pull through the clustered maze
to the hill of the tree where rain sprinkles down upon them.

And when the whirlwind throws his jabs and knocks
and whistles time-up like a referee on a soccer pitch;
When the mother tree shakes from flank to flank,
the leaves fall obeying the herald of the Grim Reaper,
whirling, twirling, round and random, rustling, tumbling,
delicate, beautiful fresh green leaves fall; yellow fall; even the
gold leaves whose tongues have tasted the sweet and sour fall,
eternal bruises stamped on Mother Tree for the brave, good ones.
An uncanny tapestry of life - the wicked fingers of the Reaper
do not pluck by colours; when each leaf gets to its shore,
it falls flat into the swamp, succumbs to voice of the driver.

Those cold nights when the lofty symphonies of choir birds
serenade and crickets chirp panegyrics under glorious stars;
when the vigilant eyes of owl stay glued on the leaves
or when the wind itself caresses them. All are gone!
Now they sing in a pure silence, elegiac songs

While the fresh green unfulfilled leaves succumb
to the forceful heinous hands of the wind
and silently slice her sojourn and steep down to sleep below,
Irawe, the dry leaves, speak
the parables of every mortal life.

Irawe, the dry leaves, do speak when found
Dancing in arctic wind journeying to the ground
When shrubs renounce her conjugative hand to death
She rustles giving up her murmuring breath

When fateful fatality beckons on Irawe, she falls
And never sleeps atop the tree again
the secluded stem of the tree becomes her ancestral home
as they form yards of carpet beneath the mother tree
Scary serene breeze whistles at dawn and dusk
within the four walls of many acres allotted to them
It shall be said, "Sand for sand; ashes for ashes"
different epitaphs at the roof of their blessed homes.

copyright 2015. Warning: Do not copy!

Texanomaly, I knew it was 'more'. But I mean Poetry is 'as' important as Science the same way Culture and Civilization are important to a Nation.

Laykorn, this controversial topic would have been suitable if you had said 'Art'. Poetry is a little fragment of Art while Science encompasses a large systematic body of knowledge.

However, we need NOT to be MYOPIC before commenting on a topic like this. Don't just post for posting sake. Think!!! Laykorn, a controversial, albeit intelligent topic.

Whitemosquito, you stated clearly that write any theme of your choice (e.g romance, tragedy, comedy, etc)

Weave the story around the promise and excitement of the new year. Okay?

The story must depict African culture, tradition, belief, etc

Now, it's apparent that there's no happy ending in a tragic story. Now if the writer chose to write a tragedy, even though the story was woven around new year excitement/promise and African culture and tradition, do you still expect the TRAGIC story to have a happy ending?

I read and follow instructions duly in any competition whatsoever, but it's becoming convoluted with this arguments.

Thanks for providing avenue for budding writers to show their skills. God bless you.

Laykorn, three words for you: God bless you.

With a critical look, Poetry is as important as Science. No condescension!

Whitemosquito, What's the email, please?

We're so sorry that this class will come to an abrupt end. It's not easy typing with screen abeg.

We have already prepared a brilliant note and analysis for today's class. We're going to be typing with pc, then copy and paste henceforth.

We're going to compensate for today's shortcomings in our next class. Thanks for understanding. God bless you.

OMA and Krystalxxx.

[b] "The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom."

The stanza explicitly displays the true meaning of the poem and definite actions of a "caged bird." Blackness of skin acts as a barrier for the black race; it prevents freedom for a person. The freedom, and feelings of
a white person's existence are unknown to one who is black. Here, Maya's belief for freedom and equality is beginning to spread among the black race. She "sings" for freedom.
Throughout history, barriers have been put up between races. [b/]

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the
sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn
bright lawn
and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of
dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

[b]Today we are going to discuss the poem posted by Laykorn for all to read and digest, and we are going to discuss what we have learnt.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings[b/] [b][b]

[b]Today we are going to discuss the poem posted by Laykorn for all to read and digest, and we are going to discuss what we have learnt.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings[b/]

Good day, guys. I hope you're all doing well?

Raise your hand if you are present in the class.

LarrySun, "All writers are equal, but some writers are more equal than others."

Truly, there are grade A writers like LarrySun, Ishilove, Princesa, Royver, Kamyemjay, Repogirl etc. and we need to learn from them.

I subscribe to this. What are the aims?