DO YOU SS THE NIGERIA I SEE?

I see a Nigeria clothed in white linen,
Her skin glitters and glows like the sun.
Her lips brightened the earth of its darknes,
Unity, love, progress and kindness uphold her.
She dances among the nations of the world
joyfully in a spirited atmosphere of goodness.


I see a spotless maiden with a pure mind,
She stood with an undiluted smile that create
Peace among the brethens who sees enmity.
I see an undefiled vegetable springing up from
The west coast of Africa among dwarfs territories.
She is cute, a song bird with a songful mouth.


When she walks pass the trees on the streets,
They all waved in admiration of her beauty.
She harbour no corruption in her humble heart,
No pothole skins like others who walks afar off.
She is carribean, she is African woman, Origianl.
Her beauty is a natural thing, original flavour.


Do you see the Nigeria I see over there?
A pretty Woman devoid of tears and suffering.
No sick leaders in her east and north wings.
I see a mother that covers her children from the sun,
I see kindhearted mother that never withhold from
Her children even when it meant starving herself.
I see a tomorrow Nigeria, a better She- nation.


Look at her polished legs and tell of tomorrow!
Watch her precious lashes and fall in love now!
Come closely close and behold her behind the
Glass house over there, who is greater among them?
My mother is a great woman, my mother is great!
Can you see the Nigeria I am seeing of tomorrow?


Though she may look a little weak today,
But I see another her blossoming like a flower.
Perhaps you don't see what I see now in my eye,
Tomorrow you shall see it as a testimony.
I see a better mother tomorrow, people's choice.
A tasteless water that nurishes the body daily,
A pipe that channels her resources to all,
I see a great country branded fidel by all.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016

I AM JUST A POET

Stand not there at my door and weep
I have nothing to offer you but words
I am just an ordinary poet in my world
I am not a politician who kill and lie.


Go to Aso Rock and meet them in columns;
Those who chameleon their colours are there,
Maybe they would teach you how to steal,
They only teach how to steal when you want to.


I am just an ordinary poet in my world
I don't know how to lie through my nose
I have nothing to offer you but words
So don't stand there at my door and weep.


Don't you stand there and weep, biko!
I have nothing to offer you but words
I am just an ordinary poet in my world
I am not a politician who kill and lie.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016

NOT MY NIGERIA

Not my Nigeria that is dead among them.
Not my Nigeria that is downtrodding,
Not my Nigeria that those helpless children
Are littered here and there like grains.
Not my Nigeria that I saw with a broken
Lips but pretends that all is well in a well.


Not in my Nigeria that those birds without
Songs are seen walking armful with arsenals,
Not my Nigeria that stand gallantly but dwarfs
Knock on her head mockerily in the public.
We've waited so long, here is the season
Of our song which hang in our throats.


The Nigeria I know has no grave that
Never get satisfied nor earth that clamour
For more, not my Nigeria that is useless!
She is among notable notabilities on earth,
She is not in a deserted desert land as you think.
In her are bags pregnant with cash and wisdom.


Not my Nigeria that I see with a mournful song,
No! Not my Nigeria, not my Nigeria in abyss!
Tell the new born sun that Nigeria is great!
Tell the birthed wind that her mother is a warrior,
Our mother is a saviour; Saviour of the blacks.
She has learnt to be a mighty woman among all.


Not my Nigeria you see without eyes and nose,
She still see those embezzling her well,
She still perceive the aroma of her children.
The Lines she outlined her feet are still there,
She is not missing, no! My Nigeria is not!
Not my Nigeria you see among those thieves there.
She has been lull away to new dreams and love.


Let Nigeria be Nigeria again not in a dream.
Let the silence of loneliness loot not her pride.
Not my Nigeria that is beaten hands down,
Not my Mother that is seen barking in the
Street like a mad dog chasing after nothing.
My Nigeria will overcome all this someday
When we gather to make Her Nigeria again.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016

THE LAST OF THE STRONG ONES

"Now give me your ears! Face me
and don't be afraid to face the BLOOD
that birthed braveness, I will shield you as you
shield me from the enemies that may come from behind me in a fierce blunt manner.
When the warriors come, do not be afraid, panic not; for I am with you in blood and flesh, the
Flesh that thousand swords could not penetrate at the brainy sand of Nkporo."
"Can the darkness still cover our eyes when I die?"
"You won't die because you are the last of the strong ones. I will defend you against their bloody arrows or bullets that shall come. When the bullet is coming, allow it to penetrate into me, allow it to go into me because the blood now lies in you, I am not afraid to die. The BUTTERFLIES have no home, so do I. "
"How DARK is the BLOOD that connect our linage and that of those that are coming after us"
"So BLACK and BRAVE is the blood within our veins. Father laid down his life for mother, mother laid down her life to protect Uncle and Uncle laid down his life to secure Nwanyieke and Nwanyieke died to protect me from the enemy and now with the same DARK BLOOD shall I protect you from the enemy."
"I can't do this brother!"
"Yes you can! You shall live to protect the Family' NAME that is the call we all must answer. Don't give up on the fight, fight to finish; fight and never give up. If there is anything to stand for is the family name, protect the FAMILY NAME when I die. Teach those children of yours the tradition of the family when am gone. Africans Protect their family names"

WHO IS PRAYING FOR MOTHER?

Who is praying for our sick mother?
Let's stop casting blame on the giant
cock that crows before the waking dawn.
Our mother is sick and needs our prayers,
Nigeria is falling like a pack of cards.


Don't lay down there and weep for nothing,
Don't shout in the grievous hospital yard.
Silence! Silence!! They told us before noon,
But the woman laying sick there is our mother!
Without her the rain would drench us more.


Gather the fowls in the field and pray hard,
I have done my own part in making my mouth
A talking drum that sound far and wide to be heard.
Don't put your words in your right hand but
Keep it peacefully on the left like a king,
So you don't throw it into mouth like a morsel.



Mother is dying and she needs our prayers,
Let those that have good legs come out to dance,
Those that have savored mouth should sing,
Let's roll up the mat of her suffering before morning
The jungle could serve as a home to the demons
That torment our most loved mother.


Those that knows how to scream
Savor your throat with a sweetened honey,
Seven thounsand joyful songs can restore her.
The mountains are waiting to see us,
The valleys have gathered up the sun to serve us in
The night as the vigil may take days to end.



If there is any joy in peace or freedom,
If there is any documented fire here,
Don't hunt and haunt for the sanity,
The boundary between sanity and insanity
Is too tiny and must be observed by all.



Mother is sick and feeble in point of death
And most of her children are busy merry here.
Who is praying for mother Nigeria among you?
The long timeline behind us can become a lifeline,
Sound the drum in the four corners of the world
That our mother is sick and we don't know how to cure her!




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016

WHO IS PRAYING FOR MOTHER?

Who is praying for our sick mother?
Let's stop casting blame on the giant
cock that crows before the waking dawn.
Our mother is sick and needs our prayers,
Nigeria is falling like a pack of cards.


Don't lay down there and weep for nothing,
Don't shout in the grievous hospital yard.
Silence! Silence!! They told us before noon,
But the woman laying sick there is our mother!
Without her the rain would drench us more.


Gather the fowls in the field and pray hard,
I have done my own part in making my mouth
A talking drum that sound far and wide to be heard.
Don't put your words in your right hand but
Keep it peacefully on the left like a king,
So you don't throw it into mouth like a morsel.



Mother is dying and she needs our prayers,
Let those that have good legs come out to dance,
Those that have savored mouth should sing,
Let's roll up the mat of her suffering before morning
The jungle could serve as a home to the demons
That torment our most loved mother.


Those that knows how to scream
Savor your throat with a sweetened honey,
Seven thounsand joyful songs can restore her.
The mountains are waiting to see us,
The valleys have gathered up the sun to serve us in
The night as the vigil may take days to end.



If there is any joy in peace or freedom,
If there is any documented fire here,
Don't hunt and haunt for the sanity,
The boundary between sanity and insanity
Is too tiny and must be observed by all.



Mother is sick and feeble in point of death
And most of her children are busy merry here.
Who is praying for mother Nigeria among you?
The long timeline behind us can become a lifeline,
Sound the drum in the four corners of the world
That our mother is sick and we don't know how to cure her!




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016

WHO IS PRAYING FOR MOTHER?

Who is praying for our sick mother?
Let's stop casting blame on the giant
cock that crows before the waking dawn.
Our mother is sick and needs our prayers,
Nigeria is falling like a pack of cards.


Don't lay down there and weep for nothing,
Don't shout in the grievous hospital yard.
Silence! Silence!! They told us before noon,
But the woman laying sick there is our mother!
Without her the rain would drench us more.


Gather the fowls in the field and pray hard,
I have done my own part in making my mouth
A talking drum that sound far and wide to be heard.
Don't put your words in your right hand but
Keep it peacefully on the left like a king,
So you don't throw it into mouth like a morsel.



Mother is dying and she needs our prayers,
Let those that have good legs come out to dance,
Those that have savored mouth should sing,
Let's roll up the mat of her suffering before morning
The jungle could serve as a home to the demons
That torment our most loved mother.


Those that knows how to scream
Savor your throat with a sweetened honey,
Seven thounsand joyful songs can restore her.
The mountains are waiting to see us,
The valleys have gathered up the sun to serve us in
The night as the vigil may take days to end.



If there is any joy in peace or freedom,
If there is any documented fire here,
Don't hunt and haunt for the sanity,
The boundary between sanity and insanity
Is too tiny and must be observed by all.



Mother is sick and feeble in point of death
And most of her children are busy merry here.
Who is praying for mother Nigeria among you?
The long timeline behind us can become a lifeline,
Sound the drum in the four corners of the world
That our mother is sick and we don't know how to cure her!




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016

WHO IS PRAYING FOR MOTHER?

Who is praying for our sick mother?
Let's stop casting blame on the giant
cock that crows before the waking dawn.
Our mother is sick and needs our prayers,
Nigeria is falling like a pack of cards.


Don't lay down there and weep for nothing,
Don't shout in the grievous hospital yard.
Silence! Silence!! They told us before noon,
But the woman laying sick there is our mother!
Without her the rain would drench us more.


Gather the fowls in the field and pray hard,
I have done my own part in making my mouth
A talking drum that sound far and wide to be heard.
Don't put your words in your right hand but
Keep it peacefully on the left like a king,
So you don't throw it into mouth like a morsel.



Mother is dying and she needs our prayers,
Let those that have good legs come out to dance,
Those that have savored mouth should sing,
Let's roll up the mat of her suffering before morning
The jungle could serve as a home to the demons
That torment our most loved mother.


Those that knows how to scream
Savor your throat with a sweetened honey,
Seven thounsand joyful songs can restore her.
The mountains are waiting to see us,
The valleys have gathered up the sun to serve us in
The night as the vigil may take days to end.



If there is any joy in peace or freedom,
If there is any documented fire here,
Don't hunt and haunt for the sanity,
The boundary between sanity and insanity
Is too tiny and must be observed by all.



Mother is sick and feeble in point of death
And most of her children are busy merry here.
Who is praying for mother Nigeria among you?
The long timeline behind us can become a lifeline,
Sound the drum in the four corners of the world
That our mother is sick and we don't know how to cure her!




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016

THE NIGERIA I KNOW

The Nigeria I know is a great nation
Free from bribery and corruption.
She house the most educated people on earth,
Shielded by a thousand legion of warlords.
Prostruding bellies with nothingness are not
seen pleading around in the carcass of the state.


The Nigeria I know is rich in human labour,
Tears and sorrow are not seen playing hide and seek.
The grains are scattered for all the birds to peck,
And they flap and fly as high as they could.
The people are filled with happiness, their cheeks
As swollen as a blown balloon in the air.
No one cast blames on the giant cock that crows at
Dawn.



The Nigeria I know is not partial in dealing,
She right wronged for her people in peace.
The right of the masses return at their doors,
A mother that seek for the good of all,
None is her favourite and none did she hate anyway.
She create no fear, pains, sorrow to anyone.
It does not matter whose fowl scatter your corn,
She is there to gather it and plead for mercy.


The Nigeria I know is kind and peaceful in nature,
The peevish errant goat that create chaos in
Town is brought to book and judged accordly.
Many mad cat and dogs in the streets are cautioned,
She provide market, market for everybody to trade.
Beauty in her street cry not like the babies,
She command respect more than her neighbours.



She has no grave that never get satisfied,
She has no fire that is always hungry and thirsty,
She has no barren womb that never get enough.
I know my Nigeria, I know my motherland.
She is mother hen that covers her chicks against
The mighty kite of valour that roam the street.
No worror is ever weary or frustrated in her land.



The Nigeria I know accommodate all in all,
She is a noble queen that does not eat from
A dirty plate pick in the forest of lies.
She feels dolefully pleased to welcome all;
All who seek to embrace her homely nature.
She wrestle not with puzzles and fall in love
With a stolen paradox or a lying ironies.


I don't know a Nigeria of terrorism, no I don't,
I don't know a Nigeria that bad leaders,
I don't know a Nigeria without light and petrol;
I don't know a Nigeria where her universities
Have a ceremonial strike of every three months.
I know a great nation of strength and power,
Not a perfect nation, forgive her for being Nigeria.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016

IT IS NIGHT HERE

It is night in this dead land
Where mothers are the fathers
And the fathers are mothers in fear.
The stony bread of sorrow given to the
Children to eat and die a holy death.


It is dark in this side of the land
Where our pains are seen as sweetened soup,
Never to be ease by any soothing hand of love.
We try all we could but all we could are wasted,
The air moans in a confused state to be seen by all,
Wounds in every angle to be suck by the dogs.


It is night in this unholy land of the holies,
The streets are filled with skulls of hatred,
Houses are occupied by ghost from hell.
Many mouths wagging without lips to buttress;
For the roses meant for tomorrow's eyes is gone.
It is night in this bottled land graced by fools.



I have been here with recognition,
In this land where demons reign.
I have tasted the blood of the innocent killed by
Those who sees righteousness as a sin at heart.
Many have bitten their lips and welcomed blood,
Detasted aroma circulates in the atmosphere blinding
The nose and leaving the eyes watering.


It is night in this amputated land
Governed by the dragons of the slumed east.
Rain drenched us more in this land than before,
Bleeding soul scattered here and there like grains,
Weeping sun mounted up above our dreams;
It is night in this land where laughter hurts like pains.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All right reserved VOV 2016

When Peace Returns

Tell mother Nigeria that I won't come again
Until a new peace return to her dying land.
Tell her not to feel bad of this gory miseries,
The blood and tears at home hurts my bones.
We have never been more to this land than a toy;
Forgotten like a scary nightmare in this meaningless home.



My worship shall be for another mother,
Suck her intoxicated breast milk in joy.
Tell mother Nigeria that Terrorists that spread
In the land have tasted our blood and it detest me.
I hate this very land of plenty where all the milk
Flow in one direction.



I am not happy to have left her behind,
Peace I seek to re-direct the course of my people.
If the shadow of my absence is felt, let her cry not,
When peace returns, in her bosom I shall dwell
like a true son.
Shame birth in this land is a ditch devouring many.



We were once a loving mother and son
Until she allowed those careful chameleons
With multiple colours into her succulent land.
I left in peace mother, not in pieces as you may think.
The flattering is enough to my craving eyes,
I am here to nurse my wounded heart from my brothers.



When peace returns to your shores,
I shall come back to embrace you.
Peace I seek, peace on earth we crave,
No one sees a palace and run to the forest;
You've not failed me but your chosen leaders have,
Here they cast blames on the giant cock for not crowing at dawn.



(C) John chizoba Vincent.
Voice Of Vincent 2016