League Day 2; HOPE NJOKU vs KOLADE OLAWALE

This blood tastes sweet,
Sweeter than honey;
This blood's value
Seems greater than Money...

Let's leave the contestants to bell the cat of black blood themselves...***chuckles**

Anyway, this moment, I bring on board HOPE NJOKU and KOLADE OLAWALE as they throw stones of words at each other... Enjoy and don't forget to place your votes!!!

NOTE;
1) The judges decision takes 70% of the judgement while well wishes and lovers of poetry votes takes 30%.

2) Upon no circumstance must any of the above mentioned poets vote.

3) The contestants are urged to invite friends to vite for them using the commentsection of this post. No rule exempts you from canvassing for votes.

5) Voting lasts for 18 hours from commencement of Duel.

6) Vote using I VOTE POEM 1 or I VOTE POEM 2

7) Results would be uploaded briefly after the closure of votes.

Good luck to the wordlord and Wordlordess... LET THE BATTLE BEGIN!

THEME: BLACK BLOOD

HOPE NJOKU

TITLE; Blood of an African Man


When the footing ended you sniffed.
To an 'ukwa' tree your blood was trussed:
heathen with matchet convulsing:
'we must slain him now'.

When the boy seeped through his eyes
your tongue you ground.
His front overhanging like an owl's eyes socket,
crying, 'Papa, I do not deserve to die tell them.'

When the matchet man swung his arm
and inside a brown pot the boy's first fell,
your hands you wed across your head.

Faithless father, still do you still trust the tradition of heathens?
You do not still believe a child must loose his head
for making off with stew sacrificed to the gods, do you?
Have the gods tongue to taste and teeth to grind?

Hearken! Those who bring blood before stones
and bend before woods, shall one day like them be:
helpless and hopeless.



KOLADE OLAWALE

TITLE; BLACK BLOOD
.
I'm a son from my mother's womb,
never deny me the chance to live.
I'm a son of my father,
never try calling me a bastard.
I wear his skin,
I eat his food,
and his blood flows in me.

I'm alive not alone for the food I eat,
not alone for the clothes I wear,
but for the blood that flows under my skin,
the blood made from an Africana black dye,
the blood of my father's father.

I will survive mountains of troubles,
killer piles of worries and sorrows
not alone for my tough epidermis
but for the African man I'm made of,
and the blood of a black man my heart pumps.

you can throw your critics at me,
say what you like about my colour,
but you can't deny me of where I belong,
nor deny me of who I am
cause I'm an African.


LET THE BATTLE BEGIN!!!... war with words.