This Game Is No Longer Safe

This game of killing is no longer
Safe in our heart of hearts.
This game of looting is no longer safe to
Hear in our society, change and change!!
We no longer dream of disposing innocent
Babies in the heaped dustbin in the street.



We are tired of lobbying and craving for our own
Selfish pocket when others are hungry and sad.
We are quiting from backbiting and bribery because
The eyes of the people are now on us breaking us.
We are sick of looking at the poor spread out in the streets because they seek help and future.



Help us find a way, this game is no long safe with us.
Tell those unfriendly friend that enough is enough,
Those who conquered our defeat and caged our soul
With evil that we can't come out from that the game is over between us, we can't continue with this.
Look not at us, emissaries of destruction; we are blind with the work you gave to us in the darkness.




You are giving us reasons to frown and brown,
This game of corruption is no long safe in our hands.
Enough is enough of this "Yes sir" always!
Give us freedom to breath and bright!
Enough of this baberic act against our own people!



You that wears smile as if you are happy with us,
We are leaving this game to your dead hands.
You that rape our dignity and give us sorrow;
This game is no longer safe in our righteous hands.
We are breaking away, we are calling it quit now!
You that empty our stomachs to feed yours;
We can't do this job again, our conscience is against us.

Dear Son

Dear Son!
The little opportunity given to a monkey to wear cloths, does not guarantee it to join the dinning table,
You must honour whosoever that comes on your way.



Dear Son!
Girls are like mangoes, while you are waiting for them to be ripe, others are eating them with salt.
So becareful the way you see girls, they are evil.


Dear Son!
Whoever presents his own head to break coconut would not be able to partake in the eating of it.
The story of the morning roses murders our lives.


Dear Son!
A man who hangs around a beautiful girl without saying a word ends up fetching water for guests at her wedding, you must be honest to yourself always.



Dear Son!
A man who counts his money after withdrawing from the ATM has trust issues, learn to trust all but not all.
If something that was going to chop off your head only knocked off your cap, you should be grateful.



Dear Son!
When a girl has beauty without brains, the Private parts suffer the most in the hands of men of the world And Having them as a best friend is like having Chicken for a pet, You will eat it some day.



Dear Son!
The wolf on the hill is not as hungry as the wolf climbing the hill, becareful with the kind of friend you keep within and those you keep far off.



Dear Son!
Never let negative and toxic people rent space in your head, raise the rent and kick them out.
I think distance makes the heart fonder and happy.



Dear Son!
Life goes on, even if you don't want it to;
Drinking garri doesn't mean you're poor but allowing it to swell before drinking is poverty in the highest.



Dear Son!
The buttocks are like a married couple though there is constant friction between them, they will still love and live together, know you that my words are alive
And they are words that will create your future, tend to them.



(C) john chizoba Vincent

A Far Cry From Nigeria

Help!
Help!!
Help!!!
Save our souls!
We are dying of lassa disease
And they told us it is a lesson to learn.
We are been shut up by boko Haram
And they smile on their white chairs and
Told us that we don't need to be alive.



Help for we are dying of pains in Nigeria,
Help for we are melting in Africa without help;
Purged eyes
Excusing
Itself
Because
No
One it ready
To tell us to come.




Our legs are no more ours
Totality has made us insane,
Help!!
Help!!
Help!!!
Let's ring the bell together to the world
Of Ebola that ravenge us in a sweet morning
Eyes opened
With
A
Wings that
Hurt.



We are men of honour but our honour is gone
Drained with a special liquid that gladden their soul.
Help,
Love
And kiss
Us
Because
We have seen
Pains
Beckoning on us.



Our education is dead!!
Between our legs they kicked it dead;
Our homes are destroyed in the broad day light
We are not yet given the reasons for the destruction.
Help!
Help!!
Help us!!!
For we
Are dying in silent
This is the cry from a failed country.


(C) John chizoba Vincent

> TO ERIATA ORIBHABOR

TO ERIATA ORIBHABOR

Thousand stars hang around his muse;
The mountainous paramount of mankind,
Incredibly a man of honour and grace,
Posterity will be in peace with him
In him lies the hope for youth and men,
He blossoms in the desert,
Reflecting the abundance of mankind
on a Nigerian reservoir.

A father of many who cares to learn,
Nurtured with pregnancy of kindness and love.
With humility, he dines among killing wolves
A teacher, adviser, counsellor, mediator;
An overcomer; more than a survivor.
A voice to the weak and voiceless
His words are pregnant with meanings.

A strong man whose face radiates
An illumination awakening the earth.
One with an awakening voice, a rhythm for the nightingales,
A beautiful face and rays of the morning sun.
Moulded in perfection t9o,
He moves on, boldly taking a stand,
A flexible spine to others stiffened.

Like a lion of Judah, watch his moves
With words of the great solomonians,
He bathes,
We watch his moves,
father to many poets;
Till eternity shall we make him proud.

(C) john chizoba vincent

My Pen

My pen still speaks of their eyes;
That eyes that shoot like an arrow
Killing many whose voice are weak.
They plunge our pride under the rain,
Beat up the little glory we are made to see;
Then, leave us helpless in the gloomy street.



My pen still speaks of my people
Who are tortured and violated,
Nothing is remain of them, nothing!
All weeping in the same corner with
The same strips on their back wailing.



We shall not die, we proclaim,
But we see death face to face with us.
All eyes on the decks means not the work is going,
The beaming of the beckoning morning is darkness.
We are shot out of the world and nothing,
Nothing is done to retrieve our spirit from doom.


My pen still speak of those blood at Wuse
My pen still speaks of those skulls at Borno,
My pen still speak of tribalism and rape.
My pen still speak of Discrimination and hatred.
Yes It still speak!
The rape
The abuse
Child trafficking
Homosexualism
That ravage our honourable country to doom.




My pen still laugh like yesterday
In the eve of Christmas when we all
Gathered between mother's legs to sing.
But all had gone and now we see pains ripping us apart that is why my pen is bereaved.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent

WE ARE THE VICTIMS

We are the victims of sour love;
Love that never return love,
Love that brings more hatred,
Love that tells us our heart troubles
Rather than the future of our tomorrow.


We are victims of false religions;
Religions that seek for its refuge
Rather than the refuge of its followers.
We only hide under its umbrella pretending
All is well when all is not white and blue.



We are victims of bad leaders that loots
Our pride in the name of leadership.
We are only made to remain silent and dumb,
Feast in our own pains and drink our tears
Like those that are thirsty of water but, we aren't thirsty of water as they assumed we are.


We are victims of dark educational system,
None is seen as a graduate unless from a university,
The other institutions of learning are discriminated upon by the so called university graduates and, the firms in the country kick us as nobody; I have been one of their victims, have you experience that?



We are victims of copywrite and plagiarism;
You labour with no food in your stomach to write,
Then another copy your words without acknowledgement and appreciation by the thieves..
We have seen the sun barked behind in fear,
We seen the rain brayed in the outcast of the land,
The thunder sounded more and more fierce than ever.
We are the victims of lost love which weep behind.

BIG BROTHER

Let us learn not to smile only when there is money in our pockets.
Let us learn to cover each other's anus and flaws.
Let us learn the act of love and butter the inner part of our souls with goodness that slice gently into us.
You left breast milk for me to suck and I must beg you this:
Take life like you take a hot tea, gradually, gradually.
Mother wasn't the problem we are passing through now rather father caused this pain that cried behind us.
Pains of discrimination and hurt can not stop unless we stop it from barking like a dog to us.
What love has brought is greater than the fear that dwells in you like a king of England.
The pest feasting on our skins now may hurl at us if we don't create a space for love to occupy.
Let us see each other as an egg that must be handled with care.
I know the cocroach can't be innocent in the midst of the fowl, I know your inner man seek revenge and death but; desperation and frustration can kill faster than death when you follow them.
Big Brother, the Big Brother up there is not blind to see your pains.
The Big Brother above said he is faithful when we trust in Him.
No man is greater than the Big Brother up there not even the so called Big brother of this World.
So rekindle your pains and let's lick gradually the hot soup that was placed in front of us.
They made us naked, I understand,
They insert blames into our heart; who cares,
Though they are the worst enemies we now have,
Walk carefully; for the Big Brother up there is watching.
Remember, when you point at someone with one finger, the other four fingers are pointing directly to you.
Please Big Brother, let's act wisely; for the Big Brother above us possesses the whole diaries of the world to give account on the last day.



(C) john chizoba vincent

YOU STILL MAKE ME SMILE

You still make me laugh and smile,
You still paint my face with goodness,
You brigthen the grudges I have within.
You still tell that story that change my life,
I hide my tears whenever I say your name
I hide my emotions with the moon when I
Watch you smile and the dimples on your face
Smile like the goddess of Nkporo and Ohafia.
The clapping sky; the weeping sun, the dancing air,
The wealthy smoke, and the dubious stars know
That you still make me laugh and go insane.
Your love still baptise my soul and water my life,
I will flag off the man I am made of to tell the world
That a lady like you still make my day as beautiful as the peacock.
Life is not qualified by fluent English, branded clothes or a rich lifestyle;
It is measured by the number of faces that smiles when they hear your name.
You still make me laugh when I hear your name.

WHEN

When shall we smile again?
When shall the farmers return?
When shall all fingers become equal?
When shall mothers return to the kitchen?
When shall the lizard have hairs on their back?
When shall the He goat smell no more?
When shall the heavens come to the earth?


(I don't know where things are going this time)



The rivers are now red and black,
The rivers where my forebears fished before going;
Whose fault is it that the children are weeping?
When shall we dance around the road like the
Children that knows nothing of what tomorrow
Will bring to their table?
When shall we clap and look the sun on the face?


(This is not the world I used to know when I was a child)




The road to our yesterday is resurrenting,
The fields are out grown by demon grasses,
The moon speaks of pain along the sky lines,
When shall all the animal called man repent
Of urinating into the stream meant for their brothers?
Shall we remain dumb and die a silent men?



(Yesterday was better in my beloved country)




I am not a silent poet but my mouth is shutting
Down from yesterday's whip from the hooligans,
I have seen beyond my eyes and my ears are no more
On my head but at their room, where they feed it
With a crooked smelling words of corruption.
When shall the snake go in group?
When shall all humans be in unity and peace?!



(Many are left uncloth between the sahara and no hope)



Make sure you don’t start seeing yourself through
the eyes of those who don’t value you.
Know your worth even if they don’t but how can we
When we are voiceless and blind like the bat?
it's a virgin season and we all know its worth;
our hopes are up to its peak and we must act,
our minds are set to the season and we must move
it's time to right all wrongs without asking yesterday.



(Every man is answerable to his God)



Hold no hurt against your follow brother in the field;
bear no grudges we are fighting for one course,
give out love and make peace with your household,
hold our tongues so that we fall not into temptation,
listen to our hearts crying in the black forest;
but our heads are on the world of their own,
our brains should think of unity not killing,
Our brain should think of development not bombing.



(When pain hurt is when you habour it in mind)



our hands should work not looking Forth to dine
With those that had worked hard the day before.
The hands of our clocks should walk faster 'cause
Life is too short to waste a second there off.
our ages elevate everyday and we take no notice,
we get no younger as the clock tick and tack,
we all get older someday when life becomes more interesting to us and it's time to think, make amends for the years if we don't want to get lost in the forest
But; when shall we be remembered and listened to?


(All the roses of this world was planted by one man)

OUR EDUCATION IS DEAD

Our education is dead!
Our education is dead!!
The bedrock of our society is gone;
Who shall bury it with its weeping soul?
The wise are crying at the hall of ignorance
The Ignorance are rejoicing at the detriment of their
Foolishness, rather than weeping togther with us.



No more chalk to teach us how to rule,
But there are many beers at the bar to drink.
No more table to sit in the classroom but
There are tables for the looters to write and steal.
No more biro to write and books to read but
There are many cigaret to smoke and enjoy.
Our education is dead and gone!
Our education is dead and gone!!



Teachers are bereaved at the dungeon of Unpaid salaries,
Looters build many mansions without looking back,
Their wards are sent abroad to school whilst we dine
With the dead system they killed with their legs.
Our education is dead and gone!
Our education is dead and gone!!
Fools are clapping in merriment;
The wise are entangled in fears of the unknown.



Our messed generation care not,
When is the future for the messed generation?
The ICT systems are sagging,
The academics boards are leaking;
The professors are dead with their sagging English,
They are teaching us nothing, nothing at all!
Our education is dead and gone!!


(C) john chizoba vincent

Pen Errand

PEN ERRAND


I know that even when others deceive me, you can't decieve me with your blossoming ink of truth.
Go tell them what has happened to our budget,
Tell them that our budget is missing in a broad day light, who stole it? We Are yet to know.
Tell them that the chibok girls have not return from the forest of lies.
Tell them that the president is confused in fighting corruption.
Tell them that the same looters are our ministers in the government house.





Go to the school, tell the teachers that they have lied to us.
They told us that we are the leaders of tomorrow and our hopes were lifted up, happy. Joyful. Excited.
Yet, the old men still control us like cattle in the field.
They taught us how to carry Bible on our left hands
And then, hold gun on our right hands to kill.
They taught us to keep lies on our upper teeth and
Truths on our lower teeth and deceit at the tip of the tongue.
How the weak sun smile, they shows us with laughter
How the air was inverted with a cloud of worry; they taught with a black chalk which depict darkness.






Go tell the moon that the world is not happy with it,
Why colour our world with white while we need darkness, darkness that speak honestly to humans?
Stop no where until you get to the skin of the sky,
Paint it with red and black of your tongue, humans
Don't need white sky but black and red sky.
Hurl my soul to the people of the earth, smile not!
Laugh not, pen! For the gods are blind to see your work.
Where are the gods of the land which supposed to shield us to peace?!
Where are the gods in this land?
Where is Obatala, Ogun, Amadioha, Sango, Arusi?
Where are they, my beloved pen?
It wasn't so in the beginning, no, it wasn't so in our time.






Your words is but a candle on stand with men,
You will make many blind and many loose their senses when you start with your endless talking.
What good is that to them that they live on earth?
All have sinned and you must tell them the truth,
Do not be gentle on those hard stone, honey pen.
Go! go!! Go tell them of the pains they have caused
While I remain in this darkness called bar of truth.
Hide nothing from any man or woman, understand?!
Men have chew many cud in their mouths and this had made them forget their creator's warning of love.





Hold the church at ramsom because they caused the war, religion war against one another in the church.
Tell the pastor of your observation; of his drifting off from the doctrine of God, the creator of the universe.
Ask the Imam why many are killing in his mosque,
Why many has created their own part instead of the
Path of their prophet; Mohammed, why?
Then, return to the church and ask the pastors why
Prosperity sermons is the order of the day, pretty pen;
Don't be shy and intimidated on this journey.
Many would abuse you but forth I send you not backward.







Tell the government they have done us more bad than good.
The masses are weeping at the door of their houses,
Commotion here and there in their handwritten letters
The oil they made to fight against us in an abnormal way.
Our hearts they have taken to their hearts to dine with.
When shall the call of intergrity be made to us?
When shall all return home to feast together as one family?
Tell them we see all their works to us under the sun,
Every one shall receive their reward when the time comes.
No king forever, soldier go, soldier come, barracks remain the same.







Stories foretold between my fingers are the sad ones.
Dreams made real by the stroke of a golden pen is real to the boredom of their looted ego in the world.
Blue inks manifest to change course of humankind but their dirty hearts foretold of an unchanged facts.
Red inks warn of impending wordless doom that will befall men when their hearts remain the way it is.
Black ink is the colour of their souls, black demons.
A writer's morsel is pictures in the brain of his brain.
Tell them to turn to the rhymes of their dance and watch how the beads they wear will mock them in tears.





Let your words be broken into verses so that they could understand that life wasn't to get and eat alone.
Mighty pens speak and, I know you won't disappoint me when you see their faces in the light rooms.
Do not look at their faces nor look into their eyes!
Those faces and eyes are decieving to look at.
Your languages their tongue may not understand but write it down on a white parchment paper shrivels under your bleeding body, maybe they would understand.
Words are my wealth, the wealth you really need to share with the world to know of our pains.








Journey of a pen knows no destiny nor fate of others,
They may take your words or leave them at the door of their ears but; make sure you speak what I asked you to speak to the dying world of sin.
I cannot beg the graveyard to teach men of quality of being honest but, I can only plead you to redirect their steps .
I may not have to live completely to write but this errand I sent you shall represent me long before am gone, the legacy of your message to the world shall not be wipe away nor be chased away from people's heart.
I die tomorrow but death never kill me when my words are evidence in their hearts.




(C) John chizoba vincent
Voice from Nkporo

WAITING FOR WILLIAMS BY JOHN CHIZOBA VINCENT

He promised to marry me when I am pregnant for him. That night I decided to give him my body, soul and spirit. We were on bed together telling each other how much we love ourselves and, how we could kill to make sure no one or anything come between us.
Williams was a great man; whose smiling radiate and glowed like the sun, whenever he smiled to me, I'm always at peace with myself. He was cute and lovely. He loved to caress me and tell me love stories which was made to water my emotions and soiled my feelings for good. I never dreamt of any other man rather than Williams; whose laughter breaks the sadness of my soul.


I gave him my life since he promised to marry me if he see that I am pregnant. He told me that the last lady that he had an affair with could not get pregnant for him for eight years that was why his mother had to chase her away. I was ready to do anything for him because I loved him, I was ready to break my vow of not getting pregnant until I get married, I was ready to overlook my parents advice and allow williams to take that which makes me a woman, I was ready to let go of everything in my life and I allow him to baptise my life with his glittering words.. I still remembered his words before he took it; he said to me
" Roses are made for special people and one of the roses made for me is you, and I am here to explore into this rose and make myself a delicious meal"


We both laughed and I allowed him to go into me, he took the virginity I have been keeping for the right man and I saw his smile after that incident. I watched my blood prowled down from the bed to the ground, my tears hunt for freedom from pains and sorrow but I thrust on with myself to accept the fact that we are meant to be because, if we are not, he won't have taken my pride that night. We hug each other tight in the young night and allow our hearts to tour through the happy night which watched us with eager eyes from a far distance. Our lives was at it peak, our joy a butterfly that water the earth and enslave bitterness.


After some weeks later, I was pregnant for williams and; happily I ran from my house to his to inform him of the new development. At the door of their house, I meet his mother who was coming out from the house with a bowl on her left hand and she wore a carton colour shirt and tied a yellow wrapper which was designed with a catholic pope pictures and there on the back of her cloth was inscribed "Motherhood experience hurt when it has no good start". She smiled at me a when she sighted me, my heart sagged at the sight of her glamourous face, she never liked me for once since her son began dating me. I was surprise to see her smiled at me.

"Good morning ma" I greeted
"Good morning, Ella" she replied "how are you doing"
" I am good, please is Williams in?"
" No, I hope there is no problem"
" I-- I -- I-" I stammered in fear

"Williams travelled to USA last week, he had gone to the US, Ella."

My mouth went wide open unable to utter a word, I left ashamed of myself, ashamed of selling myself to williams who came like unblemished lamb and destroy my future. I left crying of tomorrow; bringing into this world a child that would wake up one day and ask me about his father and, I would not have anything to tell him about his father' where about. Shame crowded my being but I must move on with the baby in me. I saw what being honest as a woman towards a man could cause to a woman. I never know love could feel like a heart attack; worst thing I ever had in my life, I was afraid of loosing my self if I ever lose Williams in the arms of another woman. Abortion is not an option to me; no, it never what I believe I could see myself going through it.
When my parents learned about this, my father was angry with me; he cried aloud to the hearing of the walls in the compound, mother was also disappointed with me. She was demoted from the seat of a chair lady in the woman association in the church because I was pregnant to an unknown man according to them. Everything came clashing upon my life. Fate was against, the wind spoke of evil about me.


With the annoyance and bitterness of the incident, I was chased away from home to go and meet to Williams. During those time I was away from home, life became more unkind to me; to the unborn child I harboured in my womb; to the air and the roads I walked on. No one seemed to know if I ever exist or if I have joined my ancestor in the world beyond but in all, I moved on with courage and confident that Williams would come home soon to stay by my side; I was certain that the arms of Williams would hold and cover me soon but when would he come to end this madness he created?
I went to meet my girl friend who accomodate me for a while but later moved out of her house when she began to act abnormal to rent my own accomodation with some money I saved while selling satch water in the street of Lagos.

Some few months later, I bathed Obiajulu, whose face shone brighter than his father's, at the sight of this young toddler on my laps, I remember Williams and his handsome face that attracted me to condeminations.


Twelve years later, I still sit at the front door waiting for the day Williams would come home to see me and his bouncing boy who looked nothing less than him. He had not called me for the last twelve years and his mother refused to give his number. I have tried getting in touch with him but all to no avail. I still wait for Williams home coming like where farmers wait anxiously for the new rain to plant their crop seedlings.

I Think I can Write a Peom

I think I can write a poem about you,
I think I can cave your smile and bottle your
Laughter into caged part of my heart forever.
I think I can make a picture of your tears and
Photocopy your feelings drawn on my palms with poetry.
I think I can screw up your brain and repair your
Understanding to understand my poetry definition.





I think I can send you to school where you learn how to love a poem.
I think your eyes works like the eyes of poetry
I think sometimes I like to weep because you don't have a knowledge of poetry.
I think I can make you a woman when I write you a poem.
I think I can make out poems out of you,
I think we can dance with the legs of poetry.




I think I can write a poem of hate and love,
I think I can heal the world with poetry but
Would that be easy and convinent for me?
I think I can change my world with a poem,
I think I can write you a poem because I am
The night of your dubious wedding day.
I think I can dust the dust of your feet because
I am the moon that shines in the day of poetry.





I think I can write a poem about your legs,
I think I can draw poems on your lips,
Silent the whispers of the deceivers in your heart.
I think you are the memory that I seek to format,
I think we can write poems that fly and sing.
I think we can eat in the poetry pot and drink from the water of poetry because, where lies poetry, lies love.




I think we can write a poem that can get us connected ,
A poem that run through our vein in the absent of fear.
I think I can write a poem that can make the earth a forest of evil,
I think I can write a poem that can create fear in the world.
I think I can write a poem that can speak and sing like the caged birds.

MESSAGE TO ALL NIGERIAN YOUTHS

A friend sent this to me and. I feel it makes a good read and is quite motivational for our youths. My dear Nigerian Youth,

I am very angry and that is why I am addressing you. You are the source of my anger and I want to vent my spleen- maybe not at you directly- but at the arrogance of your ignorance. Of all nations of the world, you are to be most pitied. Do you still wonder what you have done?

You don’t have an Ivy League education but with the little below-standard education you got, all you could do with it is to write a petition against someone with the benefit of an Ivy League education. You can’t even run your personal economy as you’re almost always and perpetually broke yet you arrogate to yourself superior knowledge about the nation’s economy.

You sit in front of a computer and rant all day through social media but with every click, you make money- not for yourself- but for Mark Zuckerberg. With every megabyte of data you spend complaining and maligning, you make stupendous bucks for Etisalat, Glo and Airtel.

Over the next two years, the number of Nigerian millionaires will jump by 47% but most likely you will not be among because you are too busy whining and complaining. And yet about 60% of Nigeria’s 170m population are below 35 years. Oh, what a waste!

By the way, Mark Zuckerberg was 19 when he started facebook. Africa’s youngest billionaire, Ashish Thakkar, is 31. He escaped from the Rwandan genocide and relocated to Uganda where he started an IT business. Collin Thornton, who made his millions by fixing bad computers and setting up Dial-a-Nerd, is 35. Adam Horowitz, an 18-year-old entrepreneur, started 30 websites in 3 years before he became successful.

The only thing you have ever started is an online petition. Have you heard of Jason Njoku? He’s 33 and the founder of Iroko TV. He received $8m investment into his company just a few years ago. What he does? Sharing the same Nollywood films that you spend hours to watch online. He didn’t just hang around waiting for Buhari to make something happen or blaming Jonathan for not making anything happen.

Kamal Budhabhatti was deported from Kenya but while on the flight, he thought of the opportunities in Kenya. He found his way back after 6 months and today his company is valued at $30m. He’s 36. Have you heard of Chinedu Echeruo? Apple just paid $1b for his app. He’s a Nigerian like you and all he did was attempt to fix a problem.

But for you, the only thing you attempt to fix are your nails- and your hairdo! Chinedu moved to New York in 1995 and found it difficult to navigate the city with ease so he developed HopStop to fix the problem. Stop listing all the problems- we know them already but what are you doing about them?

Awolowo was 37, Akintola was 36, Ahmadu Bello was 36, Tafawa Balewa was 34, Okotie-Eboh was 27 and Enahoro was 27 at the time of independence of Nigeria. In 1966, the first coup was led by Kaduna Nzeogwu (29) and stopped by Murtala Mohammed (28), TY Danjuma (28), IBB (25), Sanni Abacha (23) and Shehu Yaradua (23). It brought in Yakubu Gowon as Head of State at 32 and Obasanjo at 29. You are in your 40s and you still sag your trousers.

Of course you know Linda Ikeji. You’ve spent hundreds of hours on her blog laughing and commenting while she smiles her way to the bank. She’s just built a house for her father in the village- just by you clicking on her gossip and sharing. Your day is not complete without a stop by at her blog. She was as broke as you are but she turned a hobby into a business. Are you that void of understanding?

You think the politicians have any regard for you? That is why I referred to the arrogance of your ignorance at the beginning of this diatribe. You have a false estimation of yourself. You have an over bloated ego. You are only as good as an election ticket- pure and simple.

You are only good to used and discarded like a used ballot paper. Who keeps a used ballot paper anyway? That is why they only remember you every four years. You are like a menstrual pad that is only useful during the menstrual period. Are you hurt? Okay, let me help you. Have you heard of Prof Olusola Adeyeye before?

He is a Senator of the Federal Republic at the moment. But before he became a senator, he was popular on facebook. Even more popular than so many latter day facebookivists. I was one of his many followers. He put up posts after posts and pander to populist thinking. Then he was elected and one of the first things he did was to deactivate his facebook account. Yes, you read me right. Deactivate. How many times do you still see El-Rufai’s tweets? No longer regular? That is how it will dwindle until he disappears totally. I’m not limiting it to the aforementioned alone and this is not about any party. They are all the same.

Yet you falsely believe your future is in the hands of one politician. You will grow grey hair with that belief. And by the time you wise up, you’re on your way to the grave- not with a life expectancy of less than 60 years in this clime. Can you see you have wasted your time? And possibly your life? See, people have been complaining since independence. And they will still complain in 4 years. Will you be among them?

I agree with my friend who said Nigerian youth need mental detoxification. And maybe I should add that you need a brain transplant. Let me give you another example. I’ve watched you try to pull some people down when you don’t like their face- or their comments. You report them to facebook. And they get pulled down. Momentarily. Just momentarily.

Do you know why? Facebook knows those people draw traffic. Their posts get huge numbers of comments. And with every comment and click, someone is making money. Will you allow your best customers to leave? That is why though facebook pulled down Adeyinka Grandson’s page, he was given a facebook fan page in return. Yes, a fan page. You need to get a job and you need to get a life. There is life away from facebook or social media.

If you’re not making money from social media and you sleep on it, you’re merely existing- you’re not living. I have seen some of you take selfies and pose in all manner of ways as you paste your photos on social media. Are you a photographer or are you selling something that we don’t know? You’re unemployed because you’re unemployable. You don’t have skills. Sorry, the major skill you have is that of pointing out the problems and debating about them. That’s a no brainer! You can’t even diagnose the problems properly.

You think Ngozi Okonjo- Iweala is your problem? You are a self-inflicted problem. You are afflicted with yourself and by yourself. If you’re looking for the reason why you are the way you are- look no further than your mirror. Instead of occupying Nigeria, you should occupy your brain. The only witch chasing you from your village is you. It’s time to stop bewitching yourself.

Stop whining about lack of electricity or fuel. Do something about it. Every adversity has a seed of opportunity embedded in it. Create something. Invent something. Start something. Read up a book. Write a book. Take advantage of the present situation. Nigeria is a huge market. Nigeria is a virgin market. Waiting for you. Unleash yourself. Release your passion. Follow your potential. Invent your way to prosperity. Stop waiting for government- government only needs you when they need your taxes. Don’t depend on welfare. People who depend on welfare don’t fare well.

You think you lack capital? No, the problem is not lack of capital but lack of ideas. Just today, two men stepped into my wife’s office selling the new portraits of Buhari and Osinbajo. That’s someone grabbing an opportunity and seizing the moment. I have a friend who started out by offering after-school lessons to kids on her street- now she has a school.

I know a lady who was indigent and self-sponsored on campus. Each night, she soaked beans and made ‘moin-moin’ in the morning for sale on campus. I bought out of the moin moin as well as some other students and that was how she paid her way through University. Not prostitution. Have you heard of Ayodeji Megbope? She started her business with the last N1,000 she had on her by making moin moin. She is the CEO of No Leftovers.

I have shared the story of ‘Akara Ayo’ and invited him to talk to us before. He left his banking job to start a business frying (bean cake) in Ibadan. And added some innovation to it.

Start a snail farm. You can start it with less than N100,000. I started it with nothing- I just picked up snails in my compound and raised them. In a couple of months, I had raised close to a thousand. You have a car and you are complaining you don’t have a job? Convert it for car hire. Take it to the airports and see how people will hire it for the day. Liase with good hotels and place it at their disposal. I met a young man in Calabar who charges N1,500 per hour for the use of his car. There is something in your hand that can give you the future you want. The best moment to start is now.

For God’s sake, just do something!

NB: This is just an article to stir up and challenge people to face their Lives because this first quarter matters alot stay blessed

EVERY MOUTH SMELLS

EVERY MOUTH SMELLS



Why close your nose when I talk?
Every mouth smells whether morning or afternoon;
Every mouth has an aroma you may not like
But another will appreciate it.




Why look at my face when I talk?
Every mouth has a foul, offensive odour,
Whether wash ten times ten a day;
It still not be clean to cleanliness.




Why carry your face away from me?
Every mouth and nose are brothers,
So a brother must learn to cover his brother' anus
Even in public or in the closet.




Why walk away from me?
My mouth's frangrance shouldn't keep you away!
It is naturally made from above,
So don't judge me because of my mouth perfume.
Every adversity has a seed of opportunity embedded in it.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent

Love Not A Writer

Love not a writer because most
People thought writers are adorable,
Writers have no perfect heart as you see them.
Their hearts are afraid of rejection and always hide in their shells whenever they are discriminated in the public.
And they panic always when someone gets too close
Because their easy way to escape can be hard to find.




When you love a holy and great writer,
He seeks perfection badly because his work of art is not perfect and can never be perfect in his eyes and other writers.
A crooked pictures, femished lines and naked sentences take him more than a day to make it straight yet, nothing is ever perfect in his eyes.
He forget what straight means and spend more than drafting dirtiness here and there because he thinks he is better than what he sees and reads on paper.




Writers lie, creating false imagination and hope
Yet, they are the interpreters of the deaf gods.
Love not a writer nor date him because he will
Keeps screaming of love even when his mind
Ask him to stay away when he is broken but, with his
Last straw shall he hold you captivate and hostile.



Writers never tell what is wrong or right but they assure you that you are good at what you do.
Love not a writer because he will blind you with a
Fairytale and a godmother that never exist but,
Exist in his mind before he was born to this world.
He will fix you in this stereotype life that you can't escape from but roam here and there like a fool.




He blame every one when a fabric of imagination is torn and the broken parts shattered away in the house.
He will be afraid to propose because he thinks when you comes in; you will see the ugly creature he is.
He is afraid of himself and his words so he hide in his old self without coming out to the sun.
He will doubt every compliment you give to him, in the darkest part of his heart; he inspect and analyse your words of praise.





He will like to know if you loves him truly so
He understudy you like where he study his characters.
He will question your moves, mood, smiles and feelings like When a critic critique a work done by him without knowing he is punishing himself.
He hate you when you hate to love his works
Because his writing is the only harmless way of self harm left; he could get broken while writing.





He smile when you say you understand and he knew you definitely don't understand what he meant to you.
He is a creator, when you misbehave; he create another you.
He can destroy you with words when wooing you ,
His schedules are always flexible and easy going.
Do not love a writer because he will frustrate your life.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent

LET NIGERIA BE NIGERIA AGAIN

Let Nigeria be Nigeria again.
Let the flag demonstrate peace
Let the coat of arms be unity,
Let it be the hero it used to be.
Let it be the dream that elevate,
Let it be the love it used to be,
Uplifting its masses in prosperity.



Let Nigeria be the hand that feed many,
Let it be the great eyes that watches its children;
We many fall at the sight of fear that kills,
Let it be the dream that lift us up again.
Let it tradition come back to its abode,
Let Nigeria be the Nigeria that create hope
That take its masses to progress and blessing.



Let it be heaven on earth for us all;
A paradise which dominate the world.
My country, my home, my home, my country;
Let's anthem and pledge be the way it used to be.
Let real oppotunities be the way it used to be,
Life, a free and wonderful journey to us all.
The ghotto children taken care of by the leaders,
Let us go back to where we began before 1914.



Let Nigeria go back to it root and branches,
Let it root stand and never be uprooted.
Let us see the lines drawn on the sky and
Cease to be afraid of the air we breath.
Let Terrorism go into extinction like before
When we have none but hear only from others.
Let killing and shading of innocent blood stop,
Let Nigeria be Nigeria again and again.



Let Nigeria be Nigeria again I pray,
Let's go back to the farmers we were known for.
Let plant the coco we were known for,
Let's drink sapale water in a round surface table,
Let's Nigeria tales be told as it used to be.
Let the leaders be the leaders they used to be,
Let the church be the Church again and
Our colleges and universities, a place of learning.



I am a child of tears who have seen no progress,
I cry and pray for my country everyday and night.
Let discrimination and tribalism stop immediately!
Let bribery and corruption stop at this moment!
Who says the youths have no dream for the country?
Who says we are not learned or rather we can not
Control a country to good?
When is the future when a man of seventy two is still in the office as a president while a man of Fifty; educated and capable is sleeping at home?




I have been abused in my own country,
My fellow poets are wailing down town;
What have we not done to better this country?
Our hands are always on desks interpreting the words
Of the gods, when shall we be remembered?
Let Nigeria be Nigeria again I pray!
Nigeria was never the Nigeria I used to know as
I write this in tears of the imprisoned rain.




Who shall redeem us now because we as
The eyes of the country must be redeemed?
I see suffering and pains in this country;
I see a Nigeria that seek for itself rather than
It masses who stand as its offspring day and night.
Our generation is messed and forgotten by the leaders
Let Nigeria be the Nigeria again I pray.

HOW WHITE IS YOUR PANT?

How white is your pant that you boast?
Every pant wore within is dirty and smelling,
How white is your singlet that you shoulder high
As if you own the whole air that walks around?
Tell the children that died before their time
That nature cheated them before they came.



How clean is your mouth that you smile always?
Close a little and allow others to smile a little,
How precious is your private area that you laugh?
Laugh a little and allow others to space their breaths.
Every thunder has its sounding style and lightening;
Every teeth is supported by gums that fail.



Hold not yourself as righteous as the snow,
Battle with your conscience day and night;
For through it you cause many atrocities.
How white is your smile and laughter?
How white is your cry behind the bereaved ones?



I have seen men and, men with music in their
Throat sin not always like those with laughter in their lips.
Listen and watch the sun wrapping its body going home before the unholy darkness comes to visit.
Help the poor and the needy; no one is perfect on planet earth.



(C) john chizoba Vincent

DON'T JUDGE A POET BY JOHN CHIZOBA VINCENT

Let a poet be a poet he is;
Do not judge him as an Anti-christ,
Do not judge his words because they
Are not truthful as you may think they are.
Do not judge his face even though it is
As sag as a belt or a trouser that is worn out,
Allow a poet to exercise his right as a poet.



Don't mislead a poet' thought,
Don't change his direction of thought
He is a human being like you in a journey
That seems lost and deceiving to follow.
A poet may speak out of sense but he is
Interpreting from the gods and the goddess.



People of extra-ordinary talent (poet) are
Not crazy as you may think they are in their behaviours.
Poets are as weak as you are, though they rule the
World with words and swords of words but they
Are fearful and emotional sometimes in life.
Do not misinterprete a poet's metaphor and similes,
It is his device that was giving by the god.



Listen and listen good, poets also lack;
They also feel abused and rejected in the society.
Many of them were beating and killed like John the baptist whose head was cut in the madness of the day.
Poet is not a poet until he is a poet that have been abused by the society he belongs to.
Poets also cry and weep like babies seeking after their
Mother's breast.






Do not judge a poet, he is as weak as you are.
He is an artist that his muse can escape him
When he needs him the most.
He is to be loved like every other human beings,
Do not judge his appearance and looks;
He may look like "Wole" or "Ahmed Yerima"
It is how God created him and loved him,
Do not judge a poet but see him as you see yourself.

CAN WE TALK ABOUT LOVE?

Can we talk about love that never sin?
Can we write about love that speaks?
Is there any saying of love in your heart?
Can we dream of love with a sleek laugh that
Baptise our souls and cupoard our dreams?



Can we play hide and seek in your heart?
Can we bath the issue of hatred and naked envy?
Oh Lucilia! Oh Lucilia!! Oh Lucilia!!!
Lend me your heart I'm going to jerusalem;
For the mass of queens at solomon' temples.


Sit on the roof of my heart now
Let's talk about love and love,
Let's tell the world of beauty of being humans.
Love exist in the air, can we talk about it?
Sit here let's talk about love that comes from the sky.

JOHN CHIZOBA VINCENT CONTACT

My Contact

Email:    chizobavincent@gmail.com

Phone:  07034747063, 08090782932

Blog:    johnchizobavincent.blogspot.com

Facebook: john chizoba vincent

Twitter:      chizoba_john

I. DO NOT ENVY THE POOR

I do not envy the poor in the land;
What does my life has to do with their stinking lives?
I do not envy the needy in the society;
Their lives are one of my dreams to change,
I do not envy the drunks; their lives are most
Pitiable condition that I know .
What honey does the eyes see in watching a
Stinking bra that exposed itself like a rotten corpse?


I do not envy the deaf and dumb because
They could not hear the stinging words that
Dances to torment us and, take away our peace.
I do not envy the cripple men out there
Because they could not walk the long distance
I walk to and fro from my work place.


I do not envy the blind ones in the street
Because they could not see the pains we see,
But I pray that God's mercy guide them more.
I do not envy the dead ones in the mortury because
The sun nor the rain harm them not like it does to me.
What more is left to withstand in the wine that has already lost its taste?


I do not envy those in the hospital because
They are in conformed situation unable to move,
I do not envy the politicians because they loot our money; what does my life has to do with blood money?
I do not envy those that has no hand because they
Work not as I kill myself everyday and night in the name of government work in building my nation.



I do not envy the beggars in the homeless street
Because they earn money without struggling but,
I must be myself and act as God has created me.
I do not envy elders that hide keys to our tomorrow,
Ignorance made them to do so with dark heart.
I do not envy people writing love song because
I do not have a love song in my throat.



I do not envy the talking parrot because he only
Make noise which can not be seen on pages,
My words are on papers to be read by all even the
Parrot himself; whose mouth call down demons.
When the next generation comes, let it be told
That John chizoba vincent, a poet came without envy.


My fellow poets with pot heads and kettle eyes,
I do not envy you at all, not even in the darkest
Part of my heart which smell like a rotten corpse;
I do not envy any not even Dangote, every one has his own lane and part to play in life before another phase opens for all of us.


I do not envy those that earn more than me,
You reading this, I do not envy your eagle eyes;
Every day your eyes arise searching for what to feed itself with, I don't envy you.
I do not envy the oil in the Nigeria' pipe,
I do not envy your wife, I have my own skirt;
I envy nothing, I envy nothing because it kills.


(C) john chizoba vincent

WHILE ON THE ROAD

WHILE AT THE ROAD

Guilty and empty, I prowl through
the unknown road where bread does not
Satisfy humans.
I hunt for the liquid measure of human pace,
The tears of the street miseries, and the hunger
For their sleek laughs which hang in the air.



I saw bottled laughs crying at the road,
I saw wagging stories of want and needs,
I consoled shattered love in the sent off trains.
People singing with their nostrils and anus;
A lost song of the coming future of end.
Surely, they caged their eyes with a lost love,
Maybe troubles; sorrow, i don't know.




Honestly, the legs halt not in their suffering,
Their brains were in the world of their own;
The master of their masters whose nose tells
A thousand stories of stephen king and Dan Brown,
I could not question nature of their troubles
Nor their sorrow trakking down the north,
Maybe I should forget time and send off my imagination.



I watched how Obi turned to a woman
And Ada became a man without a Manhood,
I hold my breathe not to cat away my eyes
Tearful ones, troubled souls; battered eyes,
My lullaby halts at the sight of children in dreamful
Mood hoping to touch the head of their dreams.
How a rainful tears fall from my eyes I don't know,
I move on and on, thinking of who next is to die.



My future seeing hurt me through my blood,
There; they are, leaders bleeding in greed,
Looters looting in locked away trains;
Young ladies appreciating the sells of their body.
Mouth to mouth, eye for an eye, nose of the wanted
Tears of the new moon, pains of an old friend;
In love and hate, in wants and longing,
Peace I crave, but humans crave differently.




The sadness torn my borns apart,
But I prowl on and on watching in my black tears.
Humans need a saviour, humans need one direction!
If I die before my time, never! May this words be remembered of a saying of a poet like me.
My friend, open the door of Your heart,
Let me shut my eyes to look on and on
Until I see no more of what is left of humans.



(C) john chizoba Vincent
#morning vibes#from my heart#

THIS IS NIGERIA

This is Nigeria where every thief is honest;
Where every politicians are good yet, they are probe.
This is Nigeria where every students are wise.
This is Nigeria where every He-Goats smell not.
This is Nigeria where every eyes bleed like a tap.
This is Nigeria where every man is faster than his shadow and, every woman husband her husband.




This is Nigeria where every doors are opened at Night.
This is Nigeria where wailing and groaning are seen as laughter and laughter is a sign of Sufferness.
This is Nigeria where children are left unclothe and their parents make money as clothes they wear.
This is Nigeria where every lizard has hair on its back
This is Nigeria where cocroach is a friend to a hen;
And cocroach found in the midst of fowls is innocent.



This is a land flowing with milk and honey
Yet, the masses are suffering and smiling at the same time because they were baptised by the madness of the day and; they now see white as black and black is white.
This is Nigeria where children go to school but they sit on the ground to learn how to carry gun and steal.
This is Nigeria where the moon shine not at night.
This is Nigeria where mothers are the breadwinner
And fathers are seen at home nursing babies.



This is Nigeria where everyone wants to go to heaven
But no one wants to die before he goes to heaven.
This is Nigeria where thieves are selected as our ministers whilst the masses call it change nothing but change.
We all call for change and the change comes and we still look forward for the change we have seen behind
This is Nigeria where a civilian president wants to travel to overseas and he said he will put the Army on seat.




This is Nigeria where every man is for himself and
Walks like the snake without a group or companion.
This is Nigeria where all the masses want a white collar jobs whilst there are no jobs out there for them.
This is Nigeria where armed robbers operate in a broad day light and the police who supposed to be our security run away at the sight of them.
This is Nigeria, that lost country where every politician wants to eat alone at the detriment of the masses.




This is Nigeria where every pains is bitter sweet.
This is Nigeria where every money embezzled by the political animals are seen on paper but not handled.
This is Nigeria where laws are made but are abused by the same law makers at the madness with methods.
This is Nigeria where we drink "garri" yet happy that we've eaten a balanced diet under the sun.
This is Nigeria where the ocean howls yet we laugh.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Another voice from the East.

I AM NOT A SILENT GOAT

Treat me not so,
I am not a silent goat;
Every human has his pride
So do I.
Don't take me for granted; I can move, breath and chew as you do, so treat me not so.




Kick me not so,
I am not a silent goat;
The cud in mouth is not an act of stupidity,
But a way of enduring hardship but can't endure it any longer than this.
So treat me well and I shall serve you better.




Are humans better than goats?
Even though you are-
We become equal at death,
Then why carry yourself up as if you own the world?




I am not as silent as you may think I am,
I have a right to live as you have;
Treat me like a fool and you shall be arrested immediately:
Every goats are not without passion to live and be free like humans.






More blood dripping down from my eyes,
More pains stripped down on my body;
Is that not enough for the perfection of my stupidity?
As I stretched in the womb,I heard your complaints,
There seemed to be a mess that another goat is coming-
Why treat me though like am insane?






I am not a silent goat you should have known that,
I talk when others are silent looking like a coin.
Why treat me like this?
Why treat me like a commoner?!
Why kick me here and there?
I have a conscience like you do!!!



(C) john chizoba vincent

DO NOT DATE A POET

Do not date a poet because
Everyone would think he paint you
With his endless packs of words.
You may likely be the jerk he write,
A Poet has unnatural affection for you;
He write and snore while sleeping.
He speak and speak to get your ears deaf.
You may see him talking to animals, sky and the
Deaf cloud who listen to him not and you get scared.



(I have seen one in my street in the act)



Do not date poets because
They are more knowledgeable than you.
You can not win them in an argument and
Many of them walk in the air as they sit to write.
Their poetry hands may not give you affection and love because it is made of unseen words and metaphoric similes.
Do not date poets because they would abuse you as They Abuse their poetic licence without been arrested.



(Let poets be the poet they are meant to be )


Do not date poets because
Their Melancholy would get you insane,
Their dramatic emphasis would get you imprisoned.
They refuse to care where the remote of words is,
Many of them walk on oceans while writing.
While talking; they go to west, north, south and east,
And you are still in the same spot with them.
You will shade sorrowful tears in the street when you date fantastic poets.



(Poets are never truthful and they lack wisdom)



Do not date budding poets,
They dance and see what is within things
whilst other see the outside of a thing.
They touch what you can't touch and see
What you can not see in million years.
All their furnitures are positioned for them to stare and get themselves worn out in the course.
Their pots, kitchen, tables, spoons,cups and flowers are their source of inspiration, you can get mad at them when they stand staring at those things.
Many think they are possess by evil or rather they are witches and wizards in a man clothing.



(I have seen many possess by words and died by swords)



Never you date poets without your wisdom;
They might not get your time in the night.
They would judge your metaphor in the morning,
They carry books everywhere even in parties;
They are obsessed with fantacy and loneliness.
They listen to the music you hate and love those you despised in the afternoon because they want to write.
Their talking and conversations are too long to be waited upon.


( They are one of those that visited heaven while on earth)



You can never predict a poets' direction and movement when you walk with them in the afternoon.
They visit many holes before you dream of them,
Poets opinions are longer to form and agreed upon.
They talk to everyone on the street and that may scare you away,
They think they can help everyone that cry and those that laugh in the dungeon.
Poets would make you empty and heart harden,
They are drama and crave for plots that Twist;
Their greatest fear is no will and not been published.



(I know many with that plight not me)


Poets disgrace you before you disgrace yourself,
They have their own antagonist and nemesis back door.
Poets abuse asyndeton and they are addicted to poetry than their families and love ones.
Whatever that is wrong, they have a tea for it and they Can cook solution for every problems without getting caught.
They can only visit cities with poetry flavours.
Do not date a poets and his pen because he would frustrate you before you frustrate yourself.




(Poets are the most dangerous men on earth that I know)

A TATTERED CALL OF LIFE TREASURE

"Hello, can you hear me?"
"Yes, I can hear you. Speak forth to my ears."
"Now drop your ears to my mouth and hear, brother"
"Ok, here they are"
" I have been betrayed at the backyard and only you
Can bring back the eyes in the darkness to light.
I didn't murder the precious quill I was accused of and, I didn't with held the thousand songs of the mourners. Look into the goat skin bag on the wall,
You will see the evidence of a sparkling eyes that
Will tell you of my innocence.
Returning the market yesterday, I was restricted of my right as a commoner. Stained. Battered. Abused without anyone to fight for me.
Then I killed in defense of my weakness, all eyes were there watching, watching how the mad man slapped and hit me hard, like a harden criminal.
Then I retaliated in tears and killed him right away.
The father took refuge under the roof of his wealth , if the story is told anywhere, I am innocent of the crime, nothing remain except self confession, confession that I am guilty to be killed because, my freedom is gone. I will be hang tomorrow afternoon."
"No, the beads must be taken to the shrine"
"Do not hear with a watery eyes, it is of a truth that your brother will be hang tomorrow. If you can go to the darken shrine this night to tell father, do, but make sure you till the land tomorrow to plant the Ugu, so that we don't die together. Money for the labourers is in the goat skin bag on the wall and, there; is your wrist beads in the cupboard, make sure you wear it to the shrine. There are many gold and silver buried at the inner room behind the clay pot in case you don't know.
At the shrine, beside the female goddess is a bundles of currency buried by me when papa died.
Take, merry, and eat; tomorrow may not come to you after am gone.
In fact, let me tell you this ear breaking tattered tale, father is not your father and I'm not your brother."
"How tattered and dark is this story?"
"So dark, tattered and fearful brother, the man you called father killed your father and took you in a shamed ill mannered surrender of cowardice. Becareful you die not to night in the shrine. Remember, I will be hang tomorrow; becareful, you may or you may not survive this tribulation."
"Please, are you the light or the darkness?"
"Drop your ears again, brother. Darkness defined my dark self and your life have been in darkness because I was in the room with you.
I will be hang tomorrow, remember; go meet your uncle who is the president of this country if you can survive this. Here I drop my call, we will never see again if tomorrow comes but let all runners of accusation fingers know that life itself is a mystery."




(C) john chizoba vincent
20/1/ 2016

WHEN A MAN FALL ( A short story) by john chizoba vincent

"What makes you a man?! Lele, Are you a man? Tell me, are you a full grown man? When last did you keep your own side of the game? I suffer; hustle and do all manner of jobs to see that I keep the family going yet, I am not a good wife. This food you are eating, do you know how it come about? Fool!"





That was how she bark every now and then because I no longer have something doing to sustain the family. She was now the bread winner of the family and everything is loosen now. The mountain now speak of pain and the hills has decided to return to the heavens where it was made. Man, though weak and helpless when things break out between his loins, seems to have turned into the doom that supposed to befall women in their journey of life. . .





I could remember when this love began, we were the latest newly created birds that flown the sky. We danced in love along the road and most people thought we were mad and the madness we made known when we began to hang around town in different joints and bars drinking and making love. I never knew that love could feel like a heart attack, I never knew that love could hurt this deadly bad. I hid my tears the first time I said her name, I hid many sorrow because I met her smile which showed me love. The journey of courtship was good, we dined and moved around town together. Sometimes, when she close from the office; she would come to my office to wait for me so that we could go together. During weekend, she would come to my house to cook for me for the weekend and we had many weekend get away, we had fun, we had each other life in our palms and life was a fairy tale told by shakespear and Dickson but I never knew our joy could be cut short suddenly. . .




After some months I went with my people to see her parents. She was from Mbaise in Imo state and I was though an Uli man by birth but my parents are from Abia state. Because of the love that had eaten deep into man, I didn't make any research or rather findings on my wife to be. I was blinded by love, I was accommodated by ignorance which beckoned with a branished red sharpened doors. My parents and relations advised me against her but I forsaked their advice claiming that she was all I have in this world and without her I don't know what life could be to me. When they discovered I was not in their lane, they allowed me to do my wish; to get my legs into the fire and see how painful fire could be on a fresh flesh. We did the traditional marriage and white wedding at the same time and I brought my apple home to be eaten at my leisure time. Although she was good at the first two years in my house. She was the woman I married from Mbaise, the lady I wooed at the Omalicha Guest house, the lady that her smiles took almost all the part of me; the lady that made me smiled sometimes ago, the woman whose laughter made me realised that every man deserved a good woman whose heart is as pure as the snow of the west. But things began to change from better to worst when she began to associate with Mama Odili, our co-tenant. At first I warned my wife against that woman but each time I left the house to work, she would leave our flat upstairs to downstairs to see Mama Odili. The other day, I came back and met her in the same flat I warned her not to go. I nearly killed her that black friday if not the grace of God that kept her.



In as much as her friendship with Mama Odili was causing problem between me and her, she kept going there like where she was going to her village stream. We quarreled so many times over this issue of going to Mama Odili flat to see her, of which I invited her people and they came to settle us. At the end of the discussion, she told her people that she does nothing at home after I leave everyday for work and that was why she found comfort and solace in the company of Mama Odili, who also doesn't work like her. So to end the madness in her, I opened a boutique for her in one of the plaza in my area but within some few months she squandered the millions I used in the boutique. In a short while after our quarrel over the closure of the Boutique, rumours began to spread like a wild fire that she had began to date one chief I know in my area. I called her as my wife and questioned her on the News , but she told me that she wasn't having any affairs with the chief so I rest my case. May be it was all rumour, maybe the man was just a "Hi" friend or maybe he was one of her customers then. The one that broke the camel's back was when I saw her or rather caught her red handed with this so called me in a bar. I disgraced this man and her in the bar and then dragged her into my car and drove home. I beat the shinning mad hell out of her and, I therefore invited her people who came at my call and I told them the packs of madness that their Daughter had bought from the market and they shouldn't be shock whenever she comes back home with her belongs because what I was seeing wasn't what I saw when I got married to her. Prior to five months of that incident I lost my job. Devil lose the hell on me and took me to the street of pain. My wife became worst, she added salt to my wound, she uplifted my sorrow and built a home for my agony and hardship, so that they could torment me till I die. I searched for job here and there to no avail, the mad sun called on her children for me, the heartless breeze and the embittered rain clapped many times on the street to show me that life itself has no value and worth not living if you get to understand the flavoured ingrediates it was made of. I built more hope to move on because when a man fall, if he could look up, he can get up; tough time does last but tough people do with the right mindset. But the more I move, the tougher life becomes. The more I plan, the more they crumbled on the ground. The more I try, the more my wife frustrate me: the highest thing that can happen to a man is to fall when he has a wrong and bad wife.


" You are not a man! You are died and gone. Wowowowohhh!! Wowowowo!!! Go look for work, go look for work. Don't come and sit here all day waiting for me to feed you and also the children, Pay the house rent and the school fees while only what you do is to sit and eat the one prepared by me. You are a fool, Uche." She walked into her room after abusing me


"Daddy, why is mummy saying all these things?" My first son would ask me.

"Are you really a fool?"


" No son, I am not a fool, mummy is just angry because I don't have a job now"



" But she should be patience for you for sometime, it is not too late. When a man fall, it is not the end of his life."



"It ok son, you know what; go inside and read your book, daddy will be alright after the rain"


" Are you sure dad?"


"Of course, daddy will be alright"


"Don't think oooh, dad"


"Ok son."



He is the only hope I have, others have followed the lane of their mother and there was nothing I could do to save them and make them understand my suffocating plight. Each time I return from my hunt for job, he would be the one that would tell me how many men mother brought home and what they did behind me. I was tired of life, tired of marrying the woman I called my wife.



The day I hated her the most was the day the Landlord came to our apartment for his house rent. She was there laughing and abusing me while the landlord was also abusing and embarrasing me in the presence of the neighbours and my children. She was after my disgrace and pain, she wasn't that special one I said I do to on the altar years back. Some times I wondered why I fell in love in the first place, wondered why the earth I allowed me to messed my life with the wrong woman. The landlord kept barking behind and she continue to laugh mockily at me. The children were shocked at her behaviour likewise the Neigbours but none could say their mind because it wasn't their problem but mine. After the landlord left, she came inside where I sat down and began to laugh again before she said the most ear aching words to me:



"Uche! Uche!! Go pay your house rent, Rachael can't do all things. Lazy man! lazy man!! Uche, you are gone out of man." She moved closer to me and continue "I have told the landlord that I would pay him his rent tomorrow but you can't continue like this Uche. Rachael can't continue paying the house rent while you sit back and watch without pity, no Rachael can't". then she left me and walked out of the house.





There, I looked like a vulture beaten by rain; the way the bitter kola sound does not signify its sweetness. Really not everything that wear skirt are woman. After Listening to her, I wanted the ground to open and take me but nothing happened. So many, many things took hold of me, my brothers come every day for this and that and my wife found this as an avenue to laugh and make jest of me.




Some months later, I was at home eating the bread and beans I bought from down the street when she came inside. The next thing I saw was all her belongs outside, she said she was going to meet the man whose manhood is longer than mine and has money than me. I didn't talk nor response to her accusing voice or words nor did I beg her. She packed her things and left the children for me and till now, I have not heard any word from her but am not bothered since things are taken another shape since she left. Every man can fall but not every man that fall can rise again.





(C) John Chizoba Vincent.
Another Voice From The East

BURIAL AMIDST TEARS (A Short Story) by john chizoba vincent

He was a generous man, full of hope and drive. He was focus and kind. Many called him "Omereora" because he was good to his people not only his people but also those that came on his way. He was created to touch lives and recreate a shattered dreams. He believed life without touching lives of people are not worth living at all. Back then, his mother told him how she had to suffer before she could give birth to him. Many of his brothers and sisters died on her laps. Life was miserable to her. When she conducted the chief priest of the village, she was told that most of the children coming to her were evil children; Ogbanje. She had buried close to five children of hers within a short while. The chief priest advised her to make sacrifice to stop the coming and going of that particular child which she did before she could get him. And after few months that he was given birth to, they came again; the spirits came to torment her and the child again. She rushed him to the chief priest again. The chief priest performed some rituals and gave her some substances which she must be taken every day and rob on the body of her baby. Then she left with that substances and obeyed the instruction of the priest which result in keeping him. He was named Obiajulu; meaning the heart now is at rest.




Growing up in the little village of Golima was fun, Obiajulu was introduce to many adventures ranging from hunting for Games, playing of hide and seek with the little children in the village and going to farm with his parents, he also helped the old women in the village to fetch water with his parents permissions. Life to him was full of fun. His mother Golibe, was unable to give birth again after him. She did all she could to have another child to no avail then she was left with no other option than to remain with Obiajulu; the only palm fruit given to her by Nature. She make sure that every thing that he needed was provided to him. The best of toys, food, clothes and others were provided for him to make life easier for the young lad. Obiajulu was born with a silver spoon, no doubt about that. He was handsome to the admiration of many of the villagers.









When he was of age to go to school, his parents put him in the best school in the village and the teachers in there never ceased to praise his performance in school. He was brilliant, smart and good looking. Whenever the teacher step into the class and he was not in class, she must find out why he was not in school. Obiajulu was among the first five students that were given scholarship to study in the whole school due to their performances in the school. He had won many trophies for the school and the students can't ceased talking about him. After his primary school, he proceeded to the secondary school where he never relent but worked more hard to get the best he was known for. The principal noticed him, the teachers noticed, the proprietor observed his performance and the whole school knew that someone with the name Obiajulu came to their school. Upon his graduation from the secondary school, he was given a scholarship to Study any course of his choice at the university. There he was face with another life of living alone yet, he promised never disappointing, never to disappoint his people, never to put down all the effort that his parents had invested on him. Immediately after four years, he grauduated and served his fatherland. Then he proceeded in the hunt for a good job which he found very difficult to get. He moved and searched from one locality to the other but to no avail, the earth mocked him, the situation of things robbed him the right to see what the problems of his people was. Five years later, he finally found a job that could sustain him and make him a man.



Within a period of time, Obiajulu became wealthy. He was known in and out of the country because of how wealthy he was and the kind of business he does. Everything was working fine for him, many servants were at his calls. He travel from one country to the other. So many foundations where the less privilege are taken care of was he controlling. The money was there, the fame was there, he never see the poor and leave them frustrated, he helped whosoever that come on his way. He constructed the roads in his village, built hospitals, schools, recreation centres, sporsored many to the university. And many other things has he done and was accredited to it.



Obiajulu built so many bridges and gave jobs to many who were seeking for job and all these things brought more fame and wealth to him because he was given many titles from "Omereora" to "Igwekagu", from "Nwata na eme nka" to "omena uko". Everyone loves him because of his generosity. During the election, many people adviced him to constest for the seat of a Governor but he refused because he was not a politician neither does he like politics. After much persuasion from his people, he came out and won the primary of his party. Therefore, he became the flag bearer of his party. He won the election because everyone in the state loved him and voted for him as their To- be- governor. Everyone was joyful because he was someone they looked up to that would change their lives. In as much as all politicians are bad and worst than death, he was exceptional to them. They see him as a man of intergrity, a man of peace and love for the poor, the Rich and the meek; everyone in the society. His opponent wasn't much known in the society.



At exactly 5 am on the day he was to be sworn in as the governor of the state, he was reported died. He was shot by unknown assassins who invaded into his compound and killed all his security men and later made their way into his room where they shot him black and red. The whole state broke apart when the news spread like a wild fire in a harmattan season, the center could no longer hold each other, the sun hid in fear, the air stopped moving, the cloud became red, the ground became soft; the sand multiplied in an abnormal way, the moon could not come out in the night because humanity had made their weakness known to the world. Mother earth wept for a lost son; For a lost palm fruit that can not bring another. Truly a one blind eye man is a debtor to blindness.




The wailing and weeping continued as they brought the corpse into his home town. The villagers all worn a sack cloth to mourn him. Tears of the saints broke the ground in an abnormal way. Many men committed suicide because of him. Laying him down to mother earth, she cracked and became crooked. It was burial amidst tears; when the sun, the water and the air are died and men see nothing to live on.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Another Voice from the East

A JOURNEY THAT NEVER WAS (A Short story)

I woke From my slumber with a hopeful eyes, I unlocked my heart from the kennel Where it was frustrated the other day, Strengthened my stiffened body thousand times And then prowled to the backyard with a sleek smiles. I saw him seated in the corner of the enclaved house, He was wagging his mouth to mother like a dog tail, Then I smiled again and watched the butterflies Flew out of my mouth with my joy and peace. Some returned back into my mouths afraid. Never mind, I moved on and on and, on to bath my happiness with the holy water of freedom of leaving home. "Go back your things, we are leaving" he said. My heart jumped out from my body, dancing with a clapping hands of the last air bender. Mother motioned me to go with a happy face, I move on to the bathroom to wash out home And look forward to wearing city life on my body. As I came back to the room, we packed our things, I ran out to say goodbye to the dark village and my old clay dusty friends at the village square playing our games. The trees weren't happy I was going, the sand sucked, The sun hid her face, the papers revolt against me; The walls of the compound came fighting but I have failed over and over again, Each time I failed, I learnt how not to do it and try another method, not for once giving up; That is why I now succeeded in this time in convincing my Uncle through the phone. When I returned back with fear of what the town holds for me, I already saw my uncle in the car waiting for me to enter into the car. I entered and we drove off leaving mother and little Nneoma weeping like crocodile at the compound. My heart failed me million times, my man swelled and Made the atmosphere bitter, but my uncle was happy, He moved on, on and on smiling. He looked at me and the windscreen, he let out a forced smile which changed the accommodated peace in me. "Sorry boy, leaving home is like breaking away from childhood but, you will over come it soon" he said. The rainful tears sagged and dropped finally from my young emerging eyes. We passed so many people, those on the street, the market; church and finally we got to the Niger bridge And My uncle spoke again in a baritone voice, "Mongo park built this and died here, what a hell was he looking for when he discovered this hell of a river?" I didn't speak nor wink my eyes, my spirit was at home eating the pieces of fish that mother do keep in the basket that is always at the fire place. When we got to the rasturate where we would bite some breads into our stomach, many beautiful ladies ran to where I was sitting and gave me rain of kisses on my cheek which left me speechless and dumb. After eating, I waved to those killing ladies and we left, I make sure that those rainful kisses do not leave my cheek because I could perceive the fragrances which tell of their love and beautiful kindness. We prowled on with the car of my uncle until we got to another phase where my uncle halt and I saw many children and they were like the angels bath with holiness. I watched them with their angelical voice singing and dancing on the road. Later I stopped and my uncle went into shop to buy me the bicycle he had promised me for a very long time... But then I felt a hand on my back, very hot. "Wake up it is time to get prepared for school" I stood up, cleaned my eyes and saw my mother standing in front of me with the same smile I saw in the dream... (C) John Chizoba Vincent. Another Voice From The East

TEARS WILL COME (Short Story) by john. chizoba vincent

When we started, we were inseparable and the talk of the town. Everything was rosy, mouth watery, beautiful and the frangrance of the atmosphere of our love calm many calamities that could have emerged into our abode. I was his Juliet waiting to be taken away to a place where we could be alone and, he was my Romeo.We beat the air together along the expressway. Each time I close my eyes, all I see was him. Laughter ruled my world, courage was the wrapper I tie day and night. Tomorrow seemed to me like an endless time.
I was only waiting for him to carry me to his people and both of us, to my people. I really know that I have finally found that special one in my life. We moved on and on,




we carried each other's heart in peace, his heart was in my palms and mine was on his palms also. The butterflies that came out of his laughter reminded me of the love between Romeo and Juliet. An endless tale was our love, an egg which must be handle with great care was I to him. Love beckon and we answered immediately to protect that which we were made of.



After some months he took me to his mother and father. When we got to his parents' house, it was heaven on earth. The mother was happy to see me and the father, was excited too because he was the first son of the house and to them; he needed to get married because his younger brothers had all gotten married and he was the only one left in the family. In the house, the mother hugged and kissed me severally; to her I was the perfect woman for her son, she took my hand and kissed it again to tell me how much she loved me. Later, he took my hand and formerly introduced me to his parents. After the introduction, the mother said she wanted to go and get us something to eat; so I followed her into the kitchen. Behold I saw another heaven, the interior decorations were fantastic, the doors were another thing entirely. The deep freezer in the kitchen was "Wow"and the gas cooker was something I could not decribe how it was built. I have not seen all this beautiful arrangement of a house in my young life, I was overwhelmed of the house, the ceiling, the paintings on the wall and the tiles laid on the ground; I mean the entire house. The mother took me to the kitchen where both of us prepared the meal. Although she said I shouldn't worry but since it had been part of me not to sit and watch my mother do the house chores, I insisted that I must assist her to do the chores. After preparing the meal, I carried it to the dinning and everyone came to the dinning as the dinner was served. I sat with Ikenna, and his parents sat together and we began to eat. After eating, we sat in the living room watching the news, the protesters of Biafrans, later, the media chat of the President and the reactions of the public as was covered by the television house. We remained silence, a deep silence that could kill someone craving for attention. I watched from the face of ikenna' father to his mother's; how happy they look and back to the television.



"Nne, where did you come from?" Ikenna' father said finally as he cleared his throat. " I am from Uli in Anambra state" I replied.



"Oh, oh,you are the daughter of the soil. you are welcome to my humble home, Uli is a nice place to marry, my immediate younger brother' wife is from Uli. Their ladies are caring and kind but not as caring as my wife". He giggled while Ikenna's mother laughed out so loud at the appraisal of her.


"It my pleasure sir" I replied smiling


" You see Nne, Ikenna will make a good husband to you. A husband that will not allow Tears to drop from your eyes" his mother said facing me. I think she discovered I was a little bit shy and she removed her face from mine and faced the television.



After the dinner we left and I promised to come and see them later on my own during the weekend. On our way home, we drove past the silverbird Gallary at Ahmedu Bello way, victoria Island, Ikenna said he could have wanted us to park in the parking space and go inside to see a movie that was sheduled to be shown by that time but I insisted that we go home because it was already late. At the Third Mainland bridge, we were hooked up by traffic and the traffic lasted for about four hours . As I watched through the window, I could see hawkers here and there, those selling one or two things. I remembered when I was like them, hawking satchet water on the street, not because we were poor but because I wanted to know what life is all about while in school. I needed not to depend on my parents for this and that, I believed I could do one or two things to assist in paying my school fees. I sold so many things on traffic which my parents didn't know, this was just to make sure I survive and taste what life was all about to the ordinary people, living an ordinary life. We were worn out that night when we got home after we left the traffic that night.





The next day being sunday, Ikenna took me to his church in the evening after the church service. There we began talking about life, confessing our love to each other; our love that would not bring pains to us. He told me how much I mean to him, how he could not leave me for any other woman. He kissed and hugged me tight in the church. In his arms, I watched the crucifix on the altar, the status of Mary on the Altar behind the priest pew. I watched the pictures of the twelve disciples on the wall, the picture where Jesus was washing their feet look strength into my face and I remembered my pastor' words, a statement he always make on the pulpit.



" You must be humble, you must be humble like christ; you know, he was humble that was why he could became so low as to wash his disciples feet."



I allowed Ikenna to hold me tight to his body, I wanted to feel him more, I wanted to feel his heartbeat and the frangrance that came out of his body, I wanted to go into him and see what his heart was made of but could not. He kissed me passionately on the seat we sat on. I was afraid that the members of the church would come in and see us in that position but none came because fate was in agreement with what we were doing. I was shaking but he didn't mind, he sucked my lips and deep his tongue into my mouth and swept me off my feet. After this, he stood up from where he sat and deep hand into his pocket and brought out a handkerchief tied together and asked me to untie it which I did. Behold, there was a golden ring inside the tied handkerchief. He collected it from me as it surfaced. I couldn't believe my eyes as he put the ring in my finger. We fixed the date for the traditional marriage and the wedding. We planned to do wedding and traditional marriage the same day as to minimaze cost.




The date was fixed on the 30th of novermber. That day, I was in another world; the glamour, the atmosphere was great. I was finally getting married to my heart throb. No place was enough for me, the make up artist tried as much as possible to calm me down including my chief bride's maid was also doing her homework. She was also happy and excited. She would fan me and wipe away the sweat on my face and said:


"Nne, your day is finally here. Ife bara aba abago"


After the make up and the arrangement, we were set; the next thing is to wait for the bride groom. We waited the bride groom and his people till 6 pm in the evening but they were no where to be found. Around 6:05 pm, my phone rang and I picked it. Behold he was the one. I tried to talk but before I could open my mouth to speak he hang up on me. I tried the number again but it was busy, busy and busy; which got me upset and I smacked the phone on the ground. Thank God nothing happened to it but just a minor crash. some minutes later it beeped again and my chief brides maid pick it up. " Nne nene! Nne okwa nu Ikenna! A message from him" she said opening the message.



" What did he write?" I asked anxiously




" I am very sorry Chekwe, I can not be able to hold this traditional marriage any more due to some unforeseen circumstance. I am very sorry for this, I thought you were the special one in my life but you are not, I have found another whom my heart beat for. I have no actual reason for this rather than seeing another whose smile wake me up from sleep. You can marry when you found another love. Don't bother calling because it already too late. Ikenna"



I fainted immediately I heard what was written on that message. The next morning when I woke up from my unconsciousness. I saw it on the wall, the truth about love. It was posted on the exact wall opposite me and I read it out loud to myself...



"Tears will come when you put all your trust in men"


Then I closed my eyes again and visualised how it all began and decided to keep moving and forget about Ikenna. When tears comes, love comes after it.






(C) John Chizoba Vincent.
Another Voice From The East