Yao Eglewogbe (The Wizard's Pride) Poem by African Poetry

Yao Eglewogbe (The Wizard's Pride)



When the story shall be told,
No matter whose death it shall report,
Then shall we, bold ones in

Black companionship,
Clothe ourselves in white;
The rising tomb
Shall be our lazy chair;
The place for brave men is the wilderness.

Death is everywhere;
So let ours come in the ripe season.
One by one our fruits shall desert
The mother tree,
And the fruit tree turned firewood.

So when the story shall be told,
No matter whose death it shall report,
Then shall we, bold ones in
Black companionship,
Clothe us in white;
The rising tomb
Shall be our lazy chair;
The place for brave men is in the wilderness.
Then, when at last the Death finds me out
The sun will now show;
The heavy clouds will sustain their tears
And the hush village shall lie
Under the canopy of ugly vultures.

Oh, do not weep; only
Send my body to the unhallowed ground.
There leave me and weep not
Lest you give too much in tears
To one who had so often drawn hot tears
From your sad faces.

Send me to barren spot;
I go alone that had killed so many;
I had leaved and died a man,
So strip my hollow face
With white chalk
And let dry leaves be my bed.
Let the drummer move the priestess to madness
Whose god shall claim
Honour my death.
Only do not weep
But leave me there in a solitary pride.
Lay me in with no mournful groan;
Rather signs of relief should stir the neighbouring grass.
The spirit world grudges not
My well-worn victory.
The souls of my victims shall bow
Before the mighty dread
That pushed them untimely
Into eternity.

Now leave me in this barren place
Alone.
My bold spirit shall know no fear.
Let no stony cross
Curse this black cemetery; instead, let
The mouldering leaves of neglected shrubs
Hide my proud bones
Form the ridiculous eyes of the world
I never really loved.

Your tears are well preserved;
You shall need them soon;
For when the story shall be told,
No matter whose death it shall report;
Other men shall be dressed in white
And rest their proud heads on rising tombs
Till death
Rends them cut. Then they shall come
Here, where only bold ones
In black companionship,
Can have a restful bed.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Maveriqué Richard 25 October 2016

My best line: ...instead, let The mouldering leaves of neglected shrubs Hide my proud bones From the ridiculous eyes of the world I never really loved. I love this poem a lot, and I liked how it encouraged us to face even death with unthinkable bravery. Thanks a lot for sharing.

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