Threnody for Kofi Awoonor
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By
Echezonachukwu Nduka
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Friday, November 22, 2013.
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When
journeys begin and end at the beginning,
We question the place where life
vanished.
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When a flowery pen’s ink was
snatched and spilt;
Westgate’s mall melodies turned
sour.
For this passage, cries and tears
bear testimony.
Inks of bards wail and chant dirges.
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Kofi,
Yours was not a war of words, but
thoughts
so rich and rare. Flowing from your
fount of poesy,
They touched thirsty tongues and
filled
 minds with wit and foresight.
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Kofi,
Your eyes are closed, but open.
Your ears are stopped, but alive.
No bard bows to death wholly.
You have left earth’s crust.
But your works are born again.
Sleep; may you find rest in these
songs.
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