The God Of My Clan Poem by John Chizoba Vincent

THE GOD OF MY CLAN

With yesterday's eyes, he was a legend of our time,
Today he is the precious stone of the earth.
Yesterday in tears, we lifted him up in the
Hall of fame with our eyes rejoicing in excitment,
He made us who we are bringing back the lost glory
To our country home.

Thousands had gone and were slayed with
an edge Sharpened pen at the competitions
Of writers until he emerged from Elughu Nkporo
To contest among the elephants of the forest.
He is the pretty god of my clan,
Though he was rejected and mocked by many,
He never give up in the fight to re-write history.
Though he was despised but he was determined
To bring home the lost glory.

He won the caine prize for his people amidst sleepless night and thinking along with his pen
And books lowered on the table.
The road which writers treader upon, he went
With hope and drives coupled with determination.
There in the hall, our clan lifted him up high
In appreciationand they dance profoundly with him.

Now the glories escaped through our lips and hands,
The road seems so black in death before dishonour.
His name died before him in a world where glory last not.
The grasses which clapped then, now cry in pain,
No one remember him again because his phase has closed.