Gone Forever by Dr. Fortune Nwaiwu

Dr. Fortune Nwaiwu2022/05/05 12:45

Poetry is as old as mankind itself. The story which Fortune Nwaiwu wishes to narrate is seemingly an interesting age-old tradition. As a matter of style, he chooses to convey this singular story through a poetic medium. Though his story is largely based on a rumour he had heard from a few persons about a young girl who betrayed and snatched away a woman's husband, he has indeed seen the end of the union. This event transpired about ten years ago. Therefore, this train of poetical thoughts is premised on a real-life incident. This dramatic dialogue depicts the poet as a poetro-dramatist who astutely utilises some dramatic elements to achieve poetic effects. By reading this work, one will sense the perceptible intersections of correlations of drama and poetry to make a specific point. This approach adopted to narrate a story suggests that there are unique ways of enacting stories. However, there is a direct linkage between literature and society. Any work of art must have a display

Gone For Ever

(The Widow Speaks)


When the bell of your painful demise

Rang through my ears,

My heart ached with intense sorrow

Ready to surge and soar.

I peered on the thin air

In reminiscence

And to coalesce your true image

But ended up wandering in the realm of solitude,

For a rare gem has gone forever

To a home that is beyond glorious.


Your cessation is a sharp blow

Disquieting my cheerfulness

As I think of the things we shared –

Ideas, love, and companionship in domestic affairs.


But now fate has gravely severed us

Slashed us in countless pieces of doleful despair;

Split our marital vows.


We have all sustained injuries,

Like soldiers who barely escaped

From a battlefield bleeding,

And yet we are more to be pitied

Than bleeding warriors

For fate has forever parted us.


I can't see you in the hut

Nor do I see you on the farm anymore.

The question is, where are you?

Where has your soul gone to?

How could you leave me to be plundered

By your own kinsmen?

Have I been reduced to a bounty to the hands of your kinfolks?

Now, all men sing for euphoria

Dicing to share me as their customs demand.

I have forthwith become a dividend of loss,

While my heart ails,

Theirs glare for devious pleasures

To assuage their grotesque eros.

I recall the good years you have been with me,

Reminiscing all your great achievements

In matters related to African norms.

You have been a traditional drummer,

Wrestled with great wrestlers

And thus, became great as you whirled their backs

 On the grounds –

In the New Yam Festival.

Many hands of applause were given for your success,

And myriad damsels yearned to be your spouse.


I remember, your first woman,

Who stole your heart before my love charmed you,

Evolved her interest in you when you

Won a priceless medal

That brought great honour to your family.

What a great loss,

A hero bitten by such a dangerous python!

People say what kills a hero is

But a little quirk

Which no man can imagine.


Thus, no man born of a woman has ever harmed you

But a mere python,

Whose venom wrecks your torso,

Dragging you into an untimely but deserving grave,

To rot in the soil forever and ever.

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