Monday 29 February 2016

IN OUR LITTLE VILLAGE


In our little village Nkporo,
We live in harmony and help each other.
We share among ourselves the golden rules
And nighbours remember their neighbours.
We play hide and seek at our leisure time
Creating kite and building houses with clay.


When the elders are around the corner,
We play calm and whisper little to each other
As they eat kolanuts and drink palm wine.
Boys must not look at girls eye to eye,
And boys must not talk to the girls
Because we were told it is bad
But never were we told why it is bad.

At night, we stay separately
Under the mango trees to listen
To the moonlight tales of 'Omalinze'
After, boys dance along with boys
Girls sing'kpakpangolo' along their paths.
They never told us why girls must
Be separated from the boys.

Until we go wild and nasty,
In our games we meet;
We feel the girls emotions and feelings.
We entangle, caress and watch them groan
And moan passionately in our arms.
We disobey the elders and fall in love.

We try to see what the elders were
Hiding from our today's eyes.
So we deep our fingers into where it ought not to go
Because the elders never told us why the boys
Must not be with the girls.

Boys meet girls behind the elders,
The pleasurable experince becomes sweeter.
We mingle and entangle with them for sometimes
Behind the village 'Iroko' trees and boys
Put girls in the family way because the elders
Never told us why the boys must not look at the
Pretty girls in the eyes.

(C) JCV
#village life# rememberance# missing childhood#

Friday 26 February 2016

TIME IS IMPORTANT





Time is money, friend,
Get hold of your time,
Embrace it like a friend
And never let go of it.



Time is not sufficiently given,
Keep track of your time,
Marry your time like a wife;
There is no extra time to life!


Life is not a game of second chance,
Time is important! Time is important!
It is more precious than money, you know
It supply is limited, save it!



Procrastinate not in life,
Time is important! Save it!
Save time, there is no extra time,
If you can't plan today; you won't get it tomorrow.



Time is a forward moving,
Linear commodity that wait no one,
It is a commodity you utilise with utmost care;
Save time! Time is Imporatnt!



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved







I A M A HUMAN BEING


I am a human being!
Don't treat me like a goat because,
You have seen from my head to my toe
That I do not put on the politicians' shoes.
I have my rights as a citizen of this country!
I have my obligations as a man in democratic land!
Becareful on how you size me!





Don't push me here and there, understand!
We all have the right to express our thoughts;
For the fact that I do not wear the politician' clothes
Does not mean I am a senseless He- idiot here;
I am a human being with flesh and blood and
Should be treated as such, ok!



Do you know I voted for those who put you here?
Do you know I laboured day and night to see them in this post?
Don't put salt in my eyes because they give you bread
And give you instructions like a hungry dog.
I am a human like those Aristocrats who put you here.



Life is a learning ground just like a classroom,
The weeds though useless but still useful to some,
Don't kick me here and there because I am here.
I want to see the politicians eat on their tables,
I want to see how they laugh if it is the same way
They laughed and smiled to us when they were campaigning in our dump dubious street yesterday.



We are all supposed to be treated the same way,
The politicians are not saints as they claimed to be.
Don't treat me like this, I am not a fool at forty!
Even you here could be thrown away someday,
Nothing human should be strange to you, because
You are in this position with those that loot and laugh.



We are all human being,
Those that have big mustache are not better,
Those that wear Agbada are not finer than others;
Treat me just like you treat yourself, I am a human.
If you can't hurt yourself, why then do you feel like hurting me?
I am a human being with flesh and blood, so treat me as such!




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016

DRUNK IN GREETINGS


Greet those who are mourning
Greet those whose bones are wet
Greet those without teeth and eyes
Get drunk with greetings and live
We've never seen what we have seen
We've never been where we have been
We've never laughed where we have laughed
But the sunshine changes in the blink of our eyes
Look behind you and see many who are drunk,
Drunk in the act of greetings but they never greet
They are drunk with the future forgetting that today
Bears their names before the night came knocking-
Those who greet never greet until they got drunk
Drunk in their act of greetings like the Yorubas
Whose greetings overshadow the monster in them.





(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserve 2016

Tuesday 23 February 2016

THE STATE OF NIGERIAN MEN


Nigerian men are frustrated,
Many lost in fury and confusion,
Some are entangled in the spirit of yesterday' glory.
Men are now kids rather than kings,
Every strong man struggles but many never stand
Instead, they slumber at home waiting for their wives'
Bread.




Nigerian men are confused,
Many lost in the lorry of life battles.
They are as sick as their secrets, smiling
When they are supposed to cry at their misfortunes.
Nigerian men are lost in the wood of desperation!
The zeal to become is gone in fear and pity,
When shall we be free in our own land?
Our creative minds are caged in the dust forever.



Nigerian men are demoralised,
Dollar is high, they all sing with a bitter throat now.
The song hit side by side on the walls of their mouths, change has come but some are still looking
For the change promised with a sweet tongue.
Mr President is in a fight with the wind for corruption
Let's see who wins, Mr president or the wind.



Nigerian men are dying!
Nigerian men are abused!
Nigerian men are frustrated!
Nigerian men are disappointed!
Nigerian men are deceived!
Nigerian men are abandoned!


Nigerian men are poor,
Poverty runs through their blood vessels
Nourishing their weaknesses and impotency.
After Dollar, comes fuel scarcity, after fuel,
Then; Nigerian men shall fight for Power,
Stupidity in channels of madness in my country.
Many men never knew who they are in the dark!
They antagonise failure and mistakes as an enemy
Not knowing that they are ingredient to life success.
Nigerian men seek and fight only for themselves!




Nigerian men are down now!
None talks about getting up again,
None of them ever talked about the elephants,
They now look at the grounded ant for help.
They congregate their minds each morning on the
Bed without thinking out solutions to their troubles.
They masked their insecurities and reveal their imperfection.
The state of Nigerian men now is 'unpennable'




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved.


I CARRY YOUR HEART WITH ME


I carry your heart with me on my palms
Let me be the man that is in your smile
Let me be the ant and you my sweet
Let me be the legs that you walk with
Let me be the eyes that sees you forever
Let me be your love and your love only.




I carry your heart with me on my palms
Let me be the music of your head to head you
Let me be your sun that shines to your world
Let me be the moon and the stars that keep you
Let me be the secret behind your laughter.



Here is your heart with me on my palms
Foregone deities are not written about
The poetry in my heart can last you for eternity
Let the fire of your woman burn gently
For the flames are the sweetness of my blood.




I carry your heart in my head to impact
Let me be your soldier and your Romeo
Let me be your tomorrow in today
Let me be the man that keeps you going
Let me be your day to day activities.



I carry your heart with me on my shoulder
Let me be your joy and your tears of joy
Let me make you look like a Nollywood movie
The one we saw when we were younger
Let me be the rain that wash away your iniquities.



I carry your heart with me on my palms
Let me be the pilot of your heart' plane
Let me be your pet that you love dearly
Let me be the one to tell your tale which
You can't tell or write about with your beauty.



Let's chase the vision not the money
Let's write for the thorns in the backyard
I, the thinker; you, the beholder of my thoughts
I wouldn't give up loving you daily
Let me be the man that opens door for you
Here is your heart, I won't break it if you trust me.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved '16



BLEEDING VERSES


Break the fire that burns the soul
Never couple the blood unless it is hot,
The scented motion are fire proof in the oceans
Where the weeds are the king of the grasses.
Days of unholy beast of lust and lost are here,
Drop your ears, drop your tongue of justice;
Let's tell tomorrow that seperation is gone,
Gone to the fading psalms of sorrow.
Split the heart of agony without a second eyes,
Make the tears that bleed in their seasons cease.
The music that plays from Nkporo to Edda,
The dancers that swing from Abiriba to Ohafia,
The voiceless that are seated from Item to Ozuakoli,
The hands that are busy from Igbere to ugwueke,
The eyes that sees from Mbaise to Mbano,
Remember and cherish us at the sight of
The spirits that queue in Isikwuato and Abiam;
The masquarades that sing from Arochukwu are
Not only for the mouth to clap in sorrow, but it
Is for the legs to walk no more without a step.
Who says black men are stupid? Let him come home;
Come to fatherland and see that the blood that runs in our veins are truth for wisdom and intelligence.
Listen to the faith of the lovers in the African soil,
Sound the drum louder from Aba to Umuahia,
We bake poetry and tradition that live for thousand
Years, we are what the tourist seek in the west.
Who says Africans are beast of burden from womb?
Who says we are monkeys rather than humans?
We connect borders that testify of tomorrow,
We are the unsung song that singers clamour for,
We are the artifact of the moon and the sun.
Leave me, leave me alone; let my pen bleed blood!
Let my inking biro tell the world of her injustice
Against the sons and daughters of African.
Soon, soon; they shall watch us like a movie of love.
Africa is with hope and tomorrow,
We are not in sadness and trouble.
We have men unuttered by immorality,
We have children that never kill but look
With a hopeful face to see the world change.
I ask you again, 'who says Africans are fools?'
We are not, we are not like they think we are.
We are made of shade of tradition and cutures,
Africans are the sons that sun the sun of the world.
We head the head that head tomorrow's head,
We legs with the legs that searches future legs,
We are Africans, proudly African we are.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved

Monday 22 February 2016

TO YOU THAT SING WITHOUT A SONG


Make me better with that virgin hand,
I want to penetrate into the vagina of
Your silent thoughts which cry more.
Like a spirited ghost of war and blood;
I want to see into the light of your smile.



But
Return those kisses in your lips to me,
My sagging mouth needs a dearing feelings.
A story that stimulate my anus could savor
That which transform a thunderless nature.
You swing with pride of your nature,
Then allow me to tell the fog that I am naked.





Return those tales to the table of my heart,
Let it be caressed into the mountainous emotion;
Tooth for tooth, love for love, an eye for eye;
We could let the veins that connect us loose.
We could never go into that night with a lose face
Because the bowl that holds our love is basket now.





Do not bottled my emotions in your heart to suffer,
Strife not with my soul to zoom with doom;
I am listening through the fire of illusion that crave.
Eye me to the eastern moon and register my deeds,
Here are my grudges for your soul and body:
You made me who I am and who I am hurt more;
You baptise my man without water but fire and curse.




To you that sing without a song in your throat,
To you that dance without legs to stand on;
To you that tell a story without mouth and tongue,
I hope the demons that lives in the world with no air still listen to your songless song with their ears.
Tell me how am supposed to breathe with no air,
If you are here I can't just breath and live.



My eyes look forward for your testimonies of lies,
My mouth awaits your spit of deception and curse.
Drive closely your edgeless motions into my thought,
Pierce gently and gently into me for I care not 'cause
Your song without song has sun the song in my song.
I will head the heads of those heads that need no head.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved '16





YESTERDAY I CRAVE NOT


Yesterday saw my tears panting
Today won't see it again panting
I was shot out of life yesterday
But still I rise today beautifully
The night that howled at me was
the same night that manipulated them.



If you are looking for me yesterday
Find me today among the successful
Fear blurred my vision yesterday and
My feet couldn't move an inch but now
They do because I watered my today
Yesterday with the pain that shot me.



I urge you not to give up in your chase
I pray for everyone who has seen their
Ears with their eyes in yesterday' trouble
Weep not, today shall strengthen you more
I beg you to keep moving at your pace
What yesterday couldn't give, you see today.



Many died in their prime yesterday
But you pass through that horrorable
Incident that almost claimed your life
And you live on today by his Grace
Today shall be better to you when you
Waters it with the vision of a conquerer.



My eyes once cried before them
My brain screamed and cursed me
Behind, I was left to die and rot but
Today saw me through with ease
For the first time I know what is like
To visit death and shake his hand.


To you that cry without mouth
I shall see you through my nose
When the aroma of suffering
Shall present herself shall I hunt for you
To rescue you before death comes
Don't give up on yourself, yesterday is gone
Face today with another spirit that is pure.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved '16.



BLACK MAN LISTEN!


BLACK MAN, LISTEN!



Black Man, listen!
Not all road leads to the white house of the world,
Not all that shines like the stars are gold to the eyes.
Not all mouth that smiles is ready to do good things,
Make hay while the sun shine, there is no Exra Time.
There is no Extra- time; time is important, save it.



Black Man, Listen!
Not everything that the eyes see is good to behold,
Nor the first to see that get the best of a thing seen.
You must work with yourself, you must know and know and re-know, and learn; re-learn not in a hurry.
You are only responsible for yourself, no one can lift you up when you are down except you in you.



Black Man, Listen!
Follow not all the words that proceed from their mouths, if you do; you will fall and they will laugh, and still laugh without anyone to pull you up again.
You are your own man, man your man and, head the head that head your head in their heads before you die with shame and frustration caused by them.



Black Man, Listen!
The whites are not your gods but they are exploiters,
Mind your journey with them, becareful of their faces!
From the beginning they made us slaves and we walk in their plantations naked but not ashamed; because we know not what shame and shyness means in the eyes.
Our fathers, they brain washed to the core, and they danced along with them with empty brains.



Black Man, listen!
You have been bitten before and never allow it again,
Know yourself, black man, know thy self in yourself.
Do not misbehave in their presence to be laughed at,
Do not go gently into that silent night, if you do, doom shall accompany you to the grave to torment you.



Black Man, Listen!
Do not be weary!
Do not be frustrated!
Do not be confused!
KNOW THY SELF!
NO EXTRA TIME!
No more silent, SPEAK OUT!



Black Man, Listen!
You are the world and the world is you in the world,
Don't be tired than hungry itself because your life is the world in its form, existence and evolution.
Do not compromise with their resources, know thy self!




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved '16




THE MENACE OF POVERTY. SHORT STORY BY JOHN CHIZOBA VINCENT


She rushed out of the house with a heavy load on her head, drastically she moved without minding what would become of the baby in her womb. She had been cheated by nature many times, now, she wanted to go and face her 'Chi' and ask her why she torment her with a child that could not come and stay. She thrust all the things she met on her way aside and ran as fast as her legs could carry her. All that she wanted is to get to the other phase of the world where the pains of motherhood won't hurt her again. The pains that pierced through her body every year does not make her a successful woman but a failure as she see herself. She must go and see her 'Chi' and know from her if she was a worst kind of woman that calamity would befall her all the time. Last week, she lost her husband, Obikaku, who went hunting and couldn't return home again. He only told them that he was going to check his traps in the bush and he never returned home again. He didn't return home to see his family. He didn't say goodbye to them, he didn't bring the bush meat he promised to bring to the family. He just left; went to the otherside of the world where human souls speak of truths and honest, then left them here to perish where demons hunt for human souls. He left them with nothing but a broken promises that bleed blood. He left them with debts to pay; debt of palm wines, his age grade meetings, the goods he bought on credit. He left with so much debt that his fifth generation won't be able to pay. And now on the ground is her son, Obigbo, who collapsed this morning.


The earth has mocked her enough, the sun has baptised her enough with suffering, she wanted to end it all; end the madness that look at them like a friend but he is an enemy; enemy of progress. The air has tortured them enough, the water now look at them like people without hope. The dancing of the grasses around her home does not mean the grasses are happy for her, but the dance signified anger; anger and pains in their side, pains; because she has failed the world as a woman who lost all she had in the cold hands of death and, anger; because she has no one to talk to as a child except that which laid on the ground lifelessly.


She kept moving at a faster pace without looking back. Her hair looked dirty and unkept, on her was a tattered cloth which foretells the future. All the veins in her body stood, her breast kept thrusting her backward but she continued in her race with the demons of frustration that followed urging her to commit the suicide in her mind, her head; heavy with an emotions so rare to find among humans.


"Ugonma! Ugonma!! Some screeched in fear.

"Come back! Come back and don't kill yourself!
Others shouted going after her.

"Life is unfair" some waved their heads in pity.


At the midst of the madness in the air, she was caught in between death and life. The men held her to their ransom. While she barked and cursed the air, and beat them but they didn't mind. They bundled her home desperately. At home, they saw Obigbo on the ground, sprawling like a person that overfed himself. He looked pale, skinny like a person who is being chased by a fierce death. The people that gathered took pity on him.


" I want to die and meet my 'Chi' then ask her why she is punishing me like this, in this condition of pain. I want to die! I want to die! Leave me alone! Enough of this pains and poverty life. I want to die.". Ugonma kept ranting on the ground where two men kept guide on her.


Looking at the little boy of ten years old on the ground, many mouths began to wag and give out their suggestions why Ugonma has taken the step she took. Many knew she lost two children last year, Obiulo and chiamaka, and last two years, she also lost a boy, Onwubiko. Now the skeletal body on the ground seemed in a hurry to go, to leave her again and join the others. Some promised to take Obigbo to the hospital to be taken care off while others promised to assist Ugonma in terms of her family upkeep. Maybe that would show her that the people still cares about her.


In less than an hour, Obigbo was carried by some men shoulder high into a car with his mother and the vehicle drove off towards the southern part of the village. As they went along the wet road, the leaves of the trees waved in joy, the birds chirped in their nests, the breeze drove many papers in the air. Right in behind the road are men and women coming back from Farm, some have pans on their heads while some with cutlasses and some, a hoe or spade. They were all happy people, smiling and laughing. Ugonma wondered why her life is different from theirs, why she is not like others. She took pity on herself and managed to give out a weak smile after looking at Obigbo and discovered that he was now breathing normal. When they got to the hospital, Obigbo was brought down from the vehicle by two men who volunteered to follow them. The driver helped Ugonma out and they went straight into the emergence ward so that Obigbo could be treated as soon as possible.



Two months later, Obigbo came back well and hearty. Ugonma was joyful, joyful because the once lost child is back to normal and bubbling with life. Ugonma looked forward to the day she would have the money to send him the school of his choice. That day she would be taking him to school among other children. But not quite long, Chief Okeosisi visited, he was a business associate to her late Husband, Obikaku, he came for his money; the money that Obikaku was owning him before he died, he signed a deal with him that if he could not pay up his debts that his son should serve him as a slave until he could save up the money owned.


His stomach was as big as the surface of a mortar used for pounding yam. His head, small and shaped like a coconut but fashionably shaped in a fashionable manner. He wore Agbada with an embroided design on it. He looked good and fashionable. When Ugonma saw him in the room, her heart jumped out from her stomach racing through the sinful cold ground. She looked confused looking from one angle of the tattered striped house to the other. The baking of another problem has just begun.


"I don't need to introduce myself anymore, I'm no longer a stranger here. You know my deal with your late husband, Obikaku. It is either my money or your son is leaving here today with me. You chose one." Chief Okeosisi explained, face up.


" Chief...em..em..em.chief." Ugonma stammered


"Keep quiet! Quiet woman!! I will not hesitate to drag him along with me if you refuse. My farmlands need labourers, if you are not blind, you will see many of those boys and girls outside, they are from my debtors. Some I will marry and some, I will make my slaves and; some will work in my plantations and your son is not better than them".


"Endure for a while, Chief, I will pay you before this month ends" ugonma pleaded.


"Lele, chelukwa! Where do you have in mind to get the money? In fact woman, I don't need my money again, I need that boy to serve me, Inugo! Obigbo! Obigbo!! Where are you? Come over here we are going home now."


"Chief, chief, chief, you can't do this to me. Please temper justice with mercy. I will pay you in due time". Ugonma pleaded on her kneels.

"Your husband said the same thing before he died, now I won't look back on your tears, no! Fair exchange is no robbery." Chief okeosisi ranted here and there in annoyance.


"Please Chief, just give me more time, None but the brave deserve the fair, a drowning man will always clutch at a straw. As a twig is bent so the tree's inclined. I have been brave many times, answer the calls I make now; for we never miss the water till the well runs dry.". Ugonma wailed on the ground pleading.


" We always set a thief to catch a thief, he was a thief before he died but so unfortunate I didn't catch him. None so deaf as those who will not hear the beating of the drums in the market place. Fine words butter no parsnips. I have to do that which is in my mind"


Fiercely, he dragged Obigbo outside without even allowing him to take one or two cloth from the house. He cried and screamed for help but none came to his rescue. By now many people had gathered in front of the house watching what was going on between Ugonma and Chief Okeosisi. Many people knew him to be a hard man, who hard-hit people because they were poor. He never pity his prey whenever they fall in his trap. Some of those that he took their children as his slaves came around also, pleading and begging to no avail. The village torn into two as people wailed here and there just because of Chief Okeosisi rudeness. They were under the same cloud of frustration but no hope seen, even the king can't help.


Some pleaded with Chief Okeosisi but he didn't listen rather he dragged Obigbo along with him and others. Immediately Obigbo was dragged out of the room, ugonma fainted on the ground in tears. She began to bleed profoundly. Many women rushed to her but they were too late to save her life, too late to save the baby in her womb, too late to help to couple togther the madness in the air, too late to break a silent that chip off the old block that had built a home in the heart of Ugonma; she was gone, gone with her baby, gone leaving her only surviving palm fruit in this wicked forest called life.


When Obigbo heard the scream of one of the ladies among the women that rushed to help his mother, he knew that something has happened. He was dead-beat. He wanted to free himself from chief Okeosisi' hand but he couldn't. Desperately, he snatched a digger that a girl among them was holding and stabbed himself on the stomach. The world became silence to him, a film like a dark cloud covered his face and he was gone to join his mother. Every was frozen, not even the living was moving.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved '16





AND HE CAME AGAIN: SHORT STORY BY JOHN CHIZOBA VINCENT


He told my mother that he wanted me to come to his house and take the money that he was owning her. I'm not always comfortable going to this man's house and my mother knew this and she would always send me to go and get one or two things from him, meanwhile, I don't really know the relationship between her and this man.. A lot of people had been complaining about him both in the street, and in his compound; on how he handle young boys roughly in the compound. So when mother sent me there, I was reluctant to go but she was of the opinion that I should go because, if I did not go and collect the money from him, we would all go hungry for that day. I prowled out of the compound as she began to abused me and call me all sort of names which I don't like at all.


When I got to his house, he ushered me in and asked me to sit down on the sofa which I did, he went into his room and came back later with a small scissors. He went to the door and bolted it. He was looking at me on the sofa where I sat. Then after locking the door, he came back to me and sat behind me.


"Ebuka", he called " See, you have to cooperate with me and no harm will befall you. But if you don't cooperate with me, you will not like what I will do to you with this scissors. Don't scream, don't shout or hesistate in any position I ask you to stay, ok?!"


I answered afraid, looking at the small scissors on his left hand and his angry face and back to the scissors on his hand. He began to remove my trouser gradually. Next, he removed my pant and began to caress and rub my private part to my head. I was aroused by his romance and gentle touch. I wanted to scream and shout at him but was afraid of what he could do to me with that scissor. After touching me here and there, he asked me to stand up from the sofa I was laying down. I stood up, and he gave me back my trouser that he put behind him. I collected it from him and wear it; waiting axiously for him to give me the money that I was told to collect. He stood up and gazed into my eyes and said.



"Ebuka, make sure no one hears of this because if they do, I will kill you and nobody will know your where about. You are just a small boy and you know, the way I will kill you and your mother and sister will not know and; you know your father is dead and no one is going to fight for you. You are a nobody!. And for your mother, tell her I don't have the money yet."


After saying that to me, I covered my shame with my hands because I couldn't look at him in the eyes due to the fear that filled my eyeballs. I was afraid that he might just thrust me back to the bed and strangle me there and no one would know what has become of me. I was afraid of being beaten by this hefty man whose face was brutally designed with marks and stripes that I can not describe with my little aging eyes. I left his house abused, ashamed of myself and my hatred for life materialised again. I hated being human; human frustrated by another human in the name of satisfying their feelings and want sexually.


I walked down to the street still crying, the trees I ignored their greetings and dancing. Before, if I was not in a bad mood, I would rush to one of the trees and shake it with my little strength which mother once said it can not even kill a fly let alone hurting someone. But I told her I knew many ways of dealing with situations rather than coming to them face to face, I would target their weak points. I know the weak points of those trees that shake their bodies towards my side. I knew where to hit them and they would feel the pains. I wasn't in the mood of looking at the trees, I thrust myself forward; daydreaming, remembering how he touched me here and there. He kept on telling me that if I shout I would be in trouble. He unzipped my trouser, hold my manhood, and caressed it excitedly. He romanced me and asked me to stand, sit and stand again. He moaned and groaned with his eyes tightly closed with my manhood in his palms angry. I remembered his painful fingers in my anus strolling as if he was looking for a lost coin in a deep hole. As I remembered all this things, tears filled my eyes, but I immediately wiped them off my eyes because of what he said. His words still ring a bell in my heart and head.



"Ebuka, make sure no one hears of this because if they do, I will kill you and nobody will know your where about. You are just a small boy...."


When I got home and mother saw me coming towards the gate, she ran to me anxiously as if she wanted to devour me like a hungry lioness. I make sure my eyes were carefully wiped and no sign of red colour was seen on it because mother was a careful observer. She could see what is hidden in your heart.


"Nno O. Where is the money, Ebuka? She barked


"He didn't give it to me, ma." I said putting my face down.


"Why? Why? Why? why didn't he give you the money? You of all people knew that we have no food in the house and that money is our last hope!"


" But he said he doesn't have money"

"Chukwu okike! I told you not to leave there until he gives you the money, Ebuka!! If he doesn't have money why did he asked me to send you in the first place?"


"I don't know ma". I said raising my head.

" Ever since he bought that palm oil from me, he did not want to pay me the money for it. I wonder where he think I get money to buy new ones. Chelukwa! what is that on your face? Did you cry?"

"No ma, I didn't cry" I said fidgetting.

"Ok, go inside the house and join Nneoma to pick the Rice. I will see him in the evening"


I joined Nneoma in the Parlor to pick the Rice mother asked her to pick. I couldn't look at her face. That innocent face of her, she was innocent and I am guilty in my conscience.I have sold my innocence to get my family fed. Guilty of who I am, guilty of not telling my mother what had happened to me in Desmond's house; guilty of letting my childhood out in such a cheap manner, guilty of not being brave. Guilty of letting a stranger touching me against what our teacher taught us in the school. I was guilty and I knew it. I decided to walk into my room and cry which I did.


Hours later, mother came back roaring like a lion. She banged on my door and I woke up frightened. She held my hand and dragged me out from the bed.


"Ka nju kele gi! So Ebuka, you didn't go to Desmond's house in the morning!"


"I did, ma" I replied

" Shut up! He said you didn't come. Now this is 7 Pm, go to his place and collect the money for me. I could have sent you and Nneoma but he said only you should come"


"But mummy..." I protested

"Just go, don't mummy me"



On my way to the house, I have calculated what he would do to me. This is making the fifth time he would touch me with that disgusting hand of his and I don't want it anymore. I don't want him to hold my manhood and shake it, suck it, romance it and caress it and, then moans and groans as if it was nothing at all but a mere stick. I don't want him to touch me again! Even if I tell mother, she won't believe me. She would say I was lying, she would not believe me. She said I was bad, spoilt and disrespectful to the elders. I don't know why she won't believe me again not even in a seconds, I don't know why she abuses me at every slight mistake; tell me how I resemble my father; my dead father. She said he was like that until he was killed by armed robbers. I was stuborn and I knew that but she shouldn't compare me with my father, the father I never knew; the man I never felt his fatherly care and words. He never called me 'Obim'. Maybe he doesn't want me, maybe I was disguesting to him, maybe he doesn't want a boy to come that was why he died before I came to this disvirgined Earth. If the story is to be told anywhere, I was not to be blamed because I didn't create myself.



I went to Mama Okoro, our Neighbour, and explained my ordeal to her. She was surprised at hearing my ear breaking tale of abuse. She said my mother must hear this but I told her not to bother that I wanted to disgrace and expose Desmond that night if she could help me. She agreed to assist me, so we hit on a plan; a plan that would expose that dog to the public. She would go with me to the house and stay outside the house without being seen by Desmond, when I enter into the house with him and he starts his business, I would give out a shriek that won't be so suspicious to him, she would then come in to the scene by hitting hard on the door. This would leave him with no option but confusion and distabilization.
The plan was cooked and we were ready to go and expose him in his Evil act. When Desmond saw me coming, he gave out perfect smile that brightened the night with his shining teeth.


"What kept you so long? I have been longing for this night taste of your body to satisfy my feelings. Come inside boy, this night I will give you money for 'Akara'. Just come in" he said smiling.

He carried me gradually to the door and locked the door behind us. I saw Mama Okoro made her way to the side of the room then to the door when we have entered. He put me down on the sofa, the fan whirls, the tick tack hands of the clock blossom in their journey, the silent room reminded me of the silent torment of mankind against his fellow, the hated mankind for the silent torment.I sees every man as same as Desmond.


After putting me on the Sofa, he went to the kitchen and came out with the normal scissors he always bring. He asked me to stand up which I did and as he unzipped my trouser and pulled it down, he removed my pant and began to touch my manhood. I shrieked out loud and Mama Okoro began to bang the door. Desmond became shocked, confused and amazed.


"Did you bring anyone here?" He asked, I kept mute but watched him as he moved here and there.


As the banging got more fierce, he ran to the door and opened it. Mama Okoro saw me with my trouser on my hand. She began to beat Desmond, screaming at the same time. The neighbours gathered in one accord and Desmond was dragged to the police station that night. Later he was charged to court where he was sent to jail for child abuse. Till now, my conscience still hurt me when ever I remember the incident.





(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved '16

Sunday 14 February 2016

DIALOGUE IN A SINFUL NIGHT


SHE:
I leave you with this bleeding verses,
The stone that will kill you shall not be far from you.
The fly that will breed maggoting maggots on you
Shall not wait until you fall on bed of sorrow.
You have eaten the fruit which I fail to give you in a hurry, so shall your life be taken away in a hurry.
Do not look for me when a cry of a child is not heard in your abode, because you brought this sin on yourself, water that a child pours on his body does not make him feel cold; yes, I have spoken!
In the ears of this sinful night have I leave this sinful words on you, go and make yourself a bleeding life.




HE:
Even strong men struggle with their lives, a sick night
Does not need to be asked how he is fairing, and how well he is, but when looking at his darkness, you will know that all is not well with him.
We dance only for the gods of sexuality every night,
Taking that which rightfully belongs to a man is not a sin, and the gods bear me witness that I have not sin against you and humanity; it is tradition!
Rant! Rant!! And keep ranting for all I care; for what I have eaten, I have eaten, and nothing shall change it.




SHE:
This tree shall stand against you forever in judgement,
Your footstep shall become your cripple enemy.
Hear me under the cover of this motherly sky; the sky that bears the pains of women in love and affection,
You shall cry one day and go on your kneels begging
For forgiveness and then shall I mock you more.
I speak and I speak, for taking away my woman,
There shall be no cry of a baby in your home!




HE:
Be quiet! You are breaking the ears of the night with your song of folly.
If you can't have a stone for a fowl, you can have it for a turkey.
Yes, men will always have their way whether good or bad, women as a weaker vessel will always cry.
Now go tell your stupidity to the morning yet to come.
If your womb bears a fruit, tell your people I am not responsible as the father.
Go for your stupidity is as cruel as the bleeding of your words.




Read from Johnchizobavincent mall
Litrarymall.blogspot.com


LET A CHILD STEAL A MOMENT FROM YOUR TIME


Let a child steal a moment from your time
Let a child know that which dwells in you,
Love shared, is a love gained in success.
Don't frown your face to scare away children
They are the fruits of the world, enticing perfection,
Child here; child superhero, child's ink birth
Greatness to the beholder of their answerable words.
Let a child steal a moment from your time,
Let a child's eyes visit your heart where roses are made.
Teach them what they need to know; from the blue skies to the dusty earth where glory does not last.
Let them know and know and know the truths,
Because they are blessing to the world and to you.
Children are blessing to those that see through their eyes.

Friday 12 February 2016

EVEN STRONG MEN STRUGGLE


Do not wear a weary face of lost,
Fight the good fight and continue fighting,
Beat around your failures and disappointment;
Don't beat down your soul in a hurry,
Even strong men struggle in defend of their identities.



We inherited imperfection from the top of the
family tree; the tree planted by Adam and Eve.
That country is without light and hope,
Put on the light in your life first before others.
Everyone has his mountains to climb in life;
Different pace, different climbing styles and methods.






Don't be little yourself, low self esteem kills faster than death.
We are humans and not perfect humans,
We are fallible, mortal and flawed in nature.
Don't put on a frown face and lose out in life,
Every man has a price to pay in life and
Life you know, can't be cheated like men cheat wives; even strong men still struggle to climb farther.




People treat you like you treat youself,
Nature gives to you what you have sown;
No shortcut to life, there is no extra time.
Different time for different faces, no extra time given.
Spoil yourself in the appropriate ways so
That you know you are a king and others will too;
Don't look down on yourself, great men still struggle
Not only you; you could be yourself.




Too many men are hidding behind serving others
To avoid having to serve themselves in life.
Be king inside the kid in you, there is no extra time.




Let the harmattan of my pen shrinks your wet lips,
Let it paints your creamy skin as white as the snow,
Don't judge yourself to a forsaken crab on ground;
Even the strong men you look up to struggle, the rich also cry, but not as you cry but they still cry.
The tougher the journey, the tougher we become;
You are not the only one in the game,we are together.





(C) John Chizoba Vincent

SEE THROUGH MY LENS


See through my lens
That perfection is not in my blood,
I have tried to be like them and failed.
I need none of their approval or acceptance
To make it in this Tribe of poetry; where many
Look forward to see you fall with their words.



I will be who I concluded in my heart to be,
Before you judge me, see through my lens.
Perception differs from one to the other,
Adore me the way I am and, don't judge me base
On the way you see through your eyes lens.
The good I have done in your hood should have
Over shadows my flaws and weaknesses.



Before you judge me, just let me be;
Before you judge me, rememeber your flaws,
Life ain't easy for anyone that strife to succeed.
I am as weak as you are, not a superman; superhero.
To my friends, families, closest pals and relatives,
I promise never to take you on this memory lane again.



Before you open my anus in the public,
I have been in pains and suffering,
Let me take you through the my memory lane;
I have been as weak and confused as you are.
See through my lens, see through my eyes,
I was not made to be perfect but imperfect I am.




I have suffered many misfortunes!
I have suffered many pains!
I have suffered many disappointment!
I have suffered many sorrows and agonies!
I have been abused and no anyone to fight for me!
Maybe that is why I act the way I do,
Maybe that is why I behave the way I do.




I have seen death barks and my heart skip a beat,
Am only a human and I apologise for being human.
Apologies to my friends and closest pals,
No mistake is too great to recover and bounce back.
You can love me or leave me, before you judge, just
Let me be, life isn't easy as you see through your lens.
You will miss me when am gone beyond.



See my whole life through my own lens not yours;
Your lens could be deceiving and confusing, you
Can see through my eyes and tell my pains to your heart.





(C) john chizoba vincent

Wednesday 10 February 2016

EVIL DAYS




'God forbid', Life permits!!
When the pastors could no longer pastor
When the preacher could no longer preach
When the crusader could no longer crusade
When the Evangelist could no longer evangelise
When the dancers could no longer dance because
Their legs were weak and dishonest with them
When the doctors could no longer treat
When the plane could no longer fly and we watch
The ship sink into the ocean without any help
When the journey is no longer sweet to further
Mosquitoes and bedbugs suck more of our blood
Hell becomes closer than before to us
When the children are left naked and sinful
When all the trees are crook and none is standing
When the legs could no longer be raised
When the sand becomes hotter and desperate to kill
When the stream calls for soul to swallow
When the oceans are more reddish and horrible
When millions shall die at once in an ailment
When the earth becomes mountain and no one could climb
Can you still stand in sweet joy?
Can you still tend the farmland?
'God forbid' but life permit,
Life sometimes permit what God forbids.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent

Monday 8 February 2016

YOU SANG TO ME


Let's sit with the sun love, as the breeze
Blows gently towards our snowing hearts.
Let's paint our soul red and white for the season
Calls for intimacy between lovers and soulmates.
Season my life with a poetic song of joy.




I think we have the world smiling with a kiss,
The only I thing I would like you to do for me
Is to share the blossom and gliding sunset with me.
Let's touch the joy of the earth with love;
Let's cloth the world with a speechless emotions.


Hold my hand and savor my life with a sweet melodious beats that quench the longing of my heart.
Bank your life in my account and it shall be secured,
Let us be the answer to the question the world asks,
Let's us be the wine of love that the world seek,
Let us colour the world the way the world love.




Just can't believe you live inside of me,
All this while you were in front of me I never realise
That the world stand still for a lady so museful,
I couldn't believe it, I couldn't touch; I didn't see it but I felt it, you sang to my soul, you sang to me
A love song that makes the man in me stand.



Let's keep that silence a minute longer
for you who swirls with the wave of the sea.
Who missed the stereographic view of this land
who I reverse but blossom before the birth of my love,
Attest to no sorrow on earth for you never see one.
Let your boiling blood meet the new peace
and call it now seeing that of earth as then.



Sing me more of your undying love song
And tell me how wet the sun is now beside us.
Let's not hug cry of the earth so wicked and sinful
Sing me to my ear a love song of the night.
The last night you sang to me was perfect, sing to me again.




(C) john Chizoba Vincent


WHAT HAS BECOME OF NIGERIA?


WHAT HAS BECOME OF NIGERIA?



What has become of Nigeria?
What has become of my country home?
What has become of those children littered there?
Is everyone there still alive or all are dead of Lassa?
What has become of her economy that once glowed?



I seek to know the condition of my mother, Nigeria;
Is she in the hospital to be treated or has everyone
abandoned her to perish in the darkness?
Which of the Doctors is treating her; African or foreigner?
What has become of Nigeria's ailment among the world?




What has become of her politics?
The cobwebs on my eyelid can't allow me to see,
I can't hear of her voice here in the outskirts of town.
Who is who in the fire game of my country?
What has become of our saving Grace?



What has become of the pillar of Africa?
Is she moving forward or backward with her children?
What has become of the farmers that plant lives?
Are they still breathing or entangled in the madness
Of the same old of our oil producing country?



What has become of her education?
Is there any future for the youth?
Is there plans for the next generation?
Or is our budget too little to accommodate that?
Are our professors still speaking deadly languages?
What has become of our learning classroom?




What has become of the churches?
Is there still anyone praying for the nation?
Seeing from here is not good to my eyes,
The disadvantages of living abroad hurt me deadly.
Can someone please tell me of my beloved country?



What has become of her currency?
Is there still value on it or has it joined others?
Nigerians are in war with themselves;
My people are in a battle with their souls.
What shall we hold unto when tomorrow comes;
The Oil or Agricultural produce?



I used to know a great country here,
But what has become of her now?
I used to know a giant in the midst of dwarfs;
But what has become of that country now?
Is everyone there dead or alive?
'God forbid' but life permits!




(C) john Chizoba Vincent




I WANT TO GO TO CHURCH



I want to go to church to know
Why pastors doesn't preach repentence any more but
A sagging prosperity and miracle they preach .



I want to go to church to learn
How to prophecise so that I may earn a living
From the extortion of people who I am better than.



I want to go into trace on the altar and see
God beckoning on me to come home to him.
I want to learn why Jesus forgives



I want to go to church and learn what the tithes
Are being used for without the members consent.
I want to know why the poor are not taken care off.



I want to know why the Rich men are seen on the front rows of the auditorium why the poor are at back
I want to be more stupid and insane in the church.




Unbottle my madness before the congregation,
Let me laugh without teeth and mouth to show to them; madness in the church is better than outside.



Every teethless moron hope in miracle and miracle
But the eyes of our ageless minds are decieved because we seek that which is impossible to get.



I want to learn why many souls are murdered
And caged into the mirror of tomorrow in fear.
Breezing with their mountainous legs to insanity,
I want to know the end from my beginning and my
Beginning to my end, I want to know life mystery.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent






HELPLESS NOT LIFELESS

nder the Orji tree,
We lay helpless not lifeless.
We still look at tomorrow hopefully,
Though we may lay with our stomach'
Down without shaking; we are still alive.




Laugh not at our suffering and pains,
We still crave for another day;
A living dog is better than a dead lion.
We are still alive to answer our calls,
We are still alive to bear our cross.




Bury not our head before time,
We are still the trees of the forest
Which after cutting down resurrect later.
Today in prison, tomorrow in palace
To dine with the kings and queens.




We will sing a song soon with a great horn,
A bubbling whistles shall accompany our joy.
Do not make your face rejoice before the sun,
We are still alive in where you kept us to die.
Helpless not lifeless; homeless not hopeless,
Blood still run through our vein.




The tears gushing through our eyes
Does not mean the death of our man.
Our voices still sound louder and better,
Our eyes are still fierce and dreamful;
Our ears seeking for new names to stand on.




Call forth your rejoicing youthful soul back home,
Gather the coffins you've made to bury us together;
With the days of illusions and abandoned hope,
We still look like the lilies of the forest and the stars.
Though helpless in here, but we're not lifeless,
Though homeless not hopeless with our quest in life.
We are still alive at heart.




(C) john chizoba vincent





Sunday 7 February 2016

LOST


From my dusty rusty rough window,
I saw her moved drastically with tears in her eyes.
Broken, battered; beaten out and bloody.
The earth mocked the sole of her feet,
The sun laughed behind her in joy;
Her woman had been murdered by nature on a black bitter friday.
I watched her drove herself into the mouldy ground,
The gown she worn made jest of her gushing tears.
Lost in spirit, lost in life; lost in darkest hell of lost.
Experience of motherhood frustrated her prime,
The only thing that made her a woman is gone.
Broken.
Battered.
Beaten out.
Ashamed and bloody.
All eyes were feasting on her desperation and agony
Which flapped, flew side by side without flaws.
Watching her uncivilized sorrow hurting my soul,
I bottled my eyes into her groaning heart that sank into mine, in desperation and depression; I worn her shoes in the mourning of her lost palm fruit in fire.
When you have children, the longing for them would make you go insane without knowing;
When you have none, the longing for them would kill you and, when you lost one, the agony takes you away.
From my dusty rusty rough window,
I watched her in pity rolling and wailing on the ground, helpless and motionless with the world against her.
People gathered around her gazing in horror,
Later, she was taken inside.
Then I shook my head displeased with women's troubles as my legs wobbled in fear of the unknown.
Women: in marriage are the weaker vessel and most cheated.
In pregnacy; sorrow and pains,
In labour; agony and bitterness,
The nursing of babies has its own problems on them.
If this is what women pass through in life,
I reject to be a woman in my million years on earth; even if I come back again and again,
I won't be a woman because they have lots of stories
Which their mouths can't tell.





(C) John Chizoba Vincent




IF MEN WERE GOD


If men were God: do you think you'll have that smile that blossomed and overthrown my emotions?
Do you think you would have that brain that shine?
Do you think you can walk with those legs that sweep men off their feet without looking back and live?
Many would look for a way to make you cripple.
If men were God, would you still have the right to
Speak in this democratic world without been arrested





If men were God: this air we breath in shall be sold,
The water shall remain a resource for one politician;
Then me and you shall queue to buy before we drink.
If men were God: we shall all be bottled in one place,
Our spirits shall be caged in the zoo of their hearts.
Millions shall fall at the sound of their drums in the street; most especially you and me.




If men were God: we shall all pay as we walk like
The buses at island pay to pass lekki toll gate.
Before you eat in your house, you would take permission.
The politicians shall fly more and urinate on our heads as they journey to their doom in joy.
More souls shall be destroy than we see now.



If men were God and God was a man of humility,
He shall be kicked here and there because men' hearts
Are dirty, evil and filled with a foul aroma of Ego.
God shall be a slave of his own creature and men,
Ride endless with a cart that return no glory and love.



If men were God: you won't be alive to read this,
And my pen can't release its ink in the course of this.
My thoughts and your thoughts would be moudered
Throung the string of their eyes to your joyful soul.
If men were God; a mighty God like God above,
The flowers of your daily activities shall weep always.



Lend me your eyes, men are men with troubles,
They are at war against themselves without their knowledge.
The world is free but men's hearts are not free,
They lay eggs and went astray without hope.
Let your heart keep faith on the man above because
Only him can sustain you and no man can help.




DOES HE THA FINDS A WIFE FINDS A GOOD THING?


She was to me; a punching bag,
I was to her a dirty underwears.
We fought everyday and night,
Nothing I do pleased her and hers please me not.
I regreted meeting her and she cursed the day
She met me at the guest house where I wooed her.
We tried managing our marriage like an ailment,
She never cover my flaws, I expose her anus publicly.
But the camel back got more broken the more we tried.
I gave up and she gave up too without seeking for solution.
The bell rang simultanously for us but alas we were deaf hear!
It was a mistake to marry her, oh! It was a crime!
I lost my happiness to her and she lost her trust to me,
Oh! The rain caused mine and she said the sun caused her.
Children never come, money ran away from our home; peace; a tale of a forbidden kingdom.
I never see good things since she came in and, she never smile to me since I married her.
I caused it, she caused, we caused; they caused it.
We never get along and the best solution is separation but, let me ask you this before I file the papers;
Does he that finds a wife finds good a thing?




Friday 5 February 2016

DO YOU KNOW I WRITE?


Do you know I write poetry?
Do you know I write songs of love?
Do you really realise that I write not for fun?
My words are fire that pierces into heart;
They spit venom and doom upon the evil men.
My words are dangerous to the ears of the looters,
Listen careful, I still carry every heart in my palms
To thrust that which stand for my legacy.
If we die today, let's die; if we merry let's merry,
Only the heartens are fanatic of their mindsets.
Do you know I write not for fun but for change?

HE SAID TO ME


He said to me: what if your legs could not carry you again; would you still cat walk?
What if you could not see again, would you still see me?
What if your hands become handicap and you no longer hold my lips together, would you still care?
What if you find your self hostage and love elude you; would I still be your man?
You know your body does not belong to you, let me feast more before the maker takes what belongs to him.






He said to me: what if all your hope is gone and am the source of your life; would I make you happy?
What if your heart fail you and I'm your soul;
Would I make the right woman out of you?
What if the only thing I could change about you is
Your face; would you still look good after all?
What if your breast sagged and your lips curved?



He said to me: what if I was made to be your man forever; would you still look at me like a Dog?
What if I could not walk but a crippled man; would you still stay beside me day and night without grudges?
What if I could not give my life; would you still care?
Can you claim me in the priceless battle of humanity?
Can I meet you without a man in presence of loneliness?
Allow me into your life before another take you!




He said to me: what if I was the man who must not cry; would you still take me to the sun?
What if I was a loner and mastubate a lot; would you still cover my anus from the sand of the earth?
What if I was the moon that must not shine in the night; would I still be the man you trusted and love?
What if I could not make a living for you; would you still see me through your eyes?




(C) john chizoba vincent

Thursday 4 February 2016

IS IT POETRY?


Is it poetry that I see or love song?
Is it love that bath poetry or
Poetry that spoon feed love?
Search my heart and behold
The worlds that poetry transformed!



Is it poetry you write or prose?
Check the wordings and create effect,
Not in my season of song that poetry shall
Be made to water like a watery soup.
Make it not shadow but deep and thirsty;
Poetry is the breast the elites suck in delightfully.




Create imagination and pictures
Not mere words that disturb men' eyes.
Poetry is not rice that you cook without salt,
Poetry is not beans to eat with Bread but,
You eat poetry alone and alone.



Is it poetry you write or script?
I don't really understand you anymore.
Those words are too dirty to see,
Cave more lines before my eyes and mouth.
I want to see more of your craving words.
I want to touch the words that entangles my spirit.





(C) John chizoba Vincent.



PERFECT ME LORDS OF POETRY

This I ask not in folly but in honesty,
Perfect me gods of poetry
Make me an eyes that sees,
Make me the mouth that speaks.
Let me be the hands that writes,
The legs that walk for perfection
The tongue that taste words.




Perfect me Wole Soyinka
Perfect me Chinua Achebe
Perfect me Eriata Oribhabor
Perfect my Art J.P Clarks
Make me better through your remains Shakespeare
Breath into me Kukogho Iruesiri Samson.



Like the Thespians are initiated into their fold,
Initiate me into the fold of Poetry, my Lords.
Let me walk with you, Graciano Enwerem;
Hold my hands through your ghost, Christopher Okigbo;
Kiss me with a mouth of poetry, langston Hughes.



I pray in the name name of Maya Angelou,
I supplicate on my kneels in your name Williams Butler;
Baptise me with words, let me eat poetry,
I pray thee gods of poetry.



Cleanse my head, Pablo Neruda.
Fill my pen with your knowledge, Thomas Hardy.
Induce me into the shade, Gabriel Okara.
Where is the remains of your Biro, Niyi Osundare?!
I want to write with it to be better.



Where are the dust of your feet, Remi Raji?
Can I get your last draft, Ken Saro Wiwa?
I want to belong; to be a pen lord, lord of poetry.
Perfect me, distill me and cook me with
The remains of the atoms of your knowledge.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent

I AM WITH YOU


I am with you body and spirit,
I carry your heart with me here.
Where ever I go, you go with me;
Where I wait, you wait also with me.
Look not behind for a man that will hold you,
My pillow of kisses are with you always,
The bed of my love remains with you.
My Silence doesn't mean I'm gone out
Of the surface of the earth, No!
My quietness doesn't mean I'm dead;
I am right behind the door of your heart,
deep in my heart, anywhere and anytime
you're always remembered,loved and missed
By the substances of my systems.
I am here with you to hold and uphold you.




(C) John chizoba Vincent

Wednesday 3 February 2016

HAVE YOU SEEN MY PEN?





Have you seen my pen lately?
She is an angel seated on a high mountain to edify,
She is the dawn of a new day,
The precious woman baths in perfection.
Once she moves, every paper and dust gives way,
She is the morning sun that rises from the East
And set in happiness to the west for tomorrow.



Have you seen my pen?
She is the weapon of my warfare,
A beautiful woman whose beauty captivate men.
She birth poetry like birthing a child of the Hebrews,
Her lips glows and shines like the women of Abiam.
Her ragalia is the butter that spreads and buttress.




Her legs are the straight lines drawn by God.
Have you seen her in an Atilogwu dance?
Her wings spread south, west, north and east saluting and glorifying mother Earth of a well created nature.
She is the hen that gathers her chicks under her wings
The flute that lighten the souls of evil men.
She is a teacher that solve mystery of life.




Have you seen my pen lately?
She is the honey to the ears that behold her voice,
Words that exalt and correct men who are lost in.
Have you meet her on your journey of life?
She will teach you the end of life from the beginning
And also teach you its mystery from beginning to the end.




Have you seen my pen on her make up?
Have you seen her before the sunset?
Have you seen her in the morning drinking from the bowls of the gods of the land?
She is pretty.
Enjoyable.
Educative.
Adorable.
Amicable and
Intelligent.
You can't stay with her and remain the same, never!



(C) John Chizoba Vincent




I WRITE FOR THE ROSES


Don't look for me among the weeds;
I write for the roses.
To the weakness of my pen,
I write for love not perfection of my art.
I am for the poor in the street, they are my Roses.
I am for the disables, they are my silver and gold!



I am for the voiceless and the helpless,
Those taken into custody for their rights;
They are my roses.
I am to them what stew is to white Rice,
Don't seek for the perfection of my art;
No work of art is perfect to see as perfection.



I am for those killed by bomb blast in my country,
I am for those ripped off by the government,
I am for the dregs of the Society not the looters,
Don't look for me among the Elites or Aristocrats;
Don't you look for the perfection of my art,
It may come white always; it is for the Roses,
The last dregs of my daylight can give them light.




To those that are left behind the church to beg,
The messiah shall be your hope if my pen does not
Keep you strong.
To those that are rejected at the gate of hell;
God shall supply all your needs if my pen could not.
To those that are humble in spirit, holy spirit shall
Dwell in your heart if my words could not satisfy you




But,
Don't you ever look for me among the corrupt;
I am with you in body and spirit, writing to re-create
Your hope which was embazzled by the black angles.
I write for you, Roses, my heart smiles to you all.
Ka anyi noro na ndokwa!!!




(C) John Chizoba Vincent.

Monday 1 February 2016

To Dearest: Kukogho Iruesiri samson


To dearest: Kukogho Iruesiri samson;
The water that spreads all around the world,
Whose smiles awaken thousand angles.
Your eyes attract the Elites to dine
On your flowered bosom.
Though, we see not face to face
But your angelic glowing face buttress
The man I am made online.
Though you are not perfect
But perfection hang around you;
Bravely,
Incomparable.



The morning beams to your beckoning,
The night sight your glittering teeth;
Then afternoon honours your honourable lips which
Foretells that poetry has come to stay in Nigeria.
You are the dancer of poetry,
The music of poetry;
The sun of excitment,
The water of life
Horn of change,
Flexible.
Goal driven.
Mighty,
Stronger than two edge sword.
The slumber that beautify,
The moon that gladdens.



Grace! Grace!! Grace!!!
Though cats have nine lives,
Poetry in your hands has more lives.
Breeze into my life "cause I want
To be as brave as you are made.



Dearest to the dearest
Father to the fathered,
Hold on to your fold of sheep;
Shepherd us to the tribes of poetry
And we will humbly follow you, excited:
Prowling into the forest of men,
Eating into the den of kings.
Dearest, Kukogho Iruesiri Samson,
We concur to your leadership.



Dearest to the dearest,
To my Dearest: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson,
I sincerely honour the man you are
Not judging from the physical man
But from the inside which speak more volumes of you in you.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent.





WHEN THE GODS VISITED


When the gods visited in their ragalia,
We were like those that were dreaming.
We walked in the shadow of our stupidity,
We Danced without legs in the public
Because thousands of our smiles were missing
And our white teeth were not shinning as usual.



The ghost of Azikiwe was with them.
The ghost of Awolowo was behind them.
The ghost of Tafawa Balewa was backing them.
The spirit of Ikoku carried their bags on his head.
They were angry when they saw everything;
Everything they had worked for was dead and gone.




When they asked us for cowries, we brought papers.
When they asked for the shrine, we showed them
The unused refineries which stood untaped.
When they asked for kola, we presented minerals to them.
When they asked about their mother, Nigeria;
They were suprised to see strips on her back.
She sat alone in the dark wailing of what the leaders
Had done to her in her prime.




The ghost of Zik was not Happy with us,
I saw him cried and wept like a child looking
for a breast milk to suck from his mother's chest.
Muritala, wailed, moaned sorrowfully on the sorrow
They had pushed his mother into behind him.
I saw him danced the forbidding dance of mouners.



Things fall apart; mountain crumbled, oceans howled
The gods were angry upon us for our sins.
We have forgotten "Amala" and now eats Salad,
We have abandoned "Akpu" and eats Rice.
No more oil on the ground and yam on their shrine;
The gods were angry and furious with our lives.
They are no longer receiving dry gin on the ground.



They saw a change of names and characters,
Their children now bears "Horlorwaphemy" instead
Of "Oluwafemi" they were given by the gods.
Some now bears "Chinahasir" instead of "Chinaza".
They are foreign names which are foreign to them.



On their skins were tattoos which was not so before,
It wasn't so from the beginning when the gods were the leaders of the world with their smiling face.
It wasn't so! It wasn't so!! They all wailed in unison.
Man to man, woman to woman; in marriage,
Tufiakwa!! They spat on the ground which shook in fear.



They perceived the bloody street smelling of blood,
Vultures were every where seeking to devour men.
Their interpreters are far from them in a lost battle;
Battle that they fought alone in the darkness,
The dubious darkness all over beckoned them to come.
Disappointed they all turned back and began to go,
I saw them leave in tears one after the other.
We've failed and disappoint them all.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent