I write for Dumor,
despite the vacation of
blood on my life,
because of the times of life
from the beatings of existence…
A star in the African
skies has lost, and
the veiled face of the sky
do not make us see him again…
A poet do not write for
every life, but Dumor
earned his space on the
earth of a poet, on the
heart fed with the alarms of
Dumor was a leader in the
rendezvous of fine stars…
His smiles lighted new Africa
when the fields again on fire.
Life say they at forty begins,
Dumor’s light has began
the shine, from the immovable
star he left in the African skies….
(In loving memory of one of Africa’s best journalists, Dumor.)

©2014. DykeWilliams


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