Wednesday, 6 July 2016

POOL-ENTREE


Sweet frangrance of savador
Savor preciously before the door
Wind that transform humanity
Above their cackling insanity
Pool-entree through the poetry
Entranched perfectly to enrich luxury
Not in empheral form but forever
In equilibrium between life and nature
He stands tall like the sun to nurture
He brings future time today and stay
Spreading his wings in admonishment like ray
Poetry lives after his creator
Like a little child, he glows and shines
Beholding perfection on earth above the stars
Pool-entree to poetry, art of life
One who lives after the creator has gone out of life.


I AM MADE OF BLACK


I am made of black,
Shinning from the uttermost part of the earth
To the craving deep of the oceans of the earth.
I glitters and gleams like the stars,
A gltterati in the endless world I am,
Packaged uproariously.
My glamour is from Africa to Europe,
I am the light that connects Asia and America,
Baked with perfection from third heaven.
The meeting of my black blood by the ocean
Waves caress the power of who I am, a black man.
I am the treasure the tourist seek beneath seas
Because I am made of the un-faded colour, black.
I stand as black to defend the world of sin,
Then raise the blacks from the dungeon because
I am black, made of black blood.
I am proud of being who I am; a black man.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice of Vincent 2016

Sunday, 29 May 2016

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

Monday, 23 May 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

Sunday, 22 May 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






Saturday, 7 May 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



Monday, 2 May 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

Sunday, 17 April 2016

NIGERIANS ARE IN WAR WITH THEMSELVES


We train many doctors in our universities and when the people are sick most especially the Aristocrats or the politicians; they flew themsleves to abroad where they are treated by the white men. Does it mean that those Doctors trained in our universities are not qualified or the politicians are afraid of being killed by those Doctors? We have so many Engineers but when some of the roads in our country is to be constructed, we look towards to invite those foreigners who we believe in. We have come to the conclusion that everything made in Nigeria is fake, we no longer support or patronise those locally made goods in Nigeria. Take a look at Aba for instance, they manufecture shoes, bags and so many other things there but we don't patronise the market because we believed they are all fake stuff manufectured there. We look for italian shoes, italian toothpick, italia clothes, Brazilian Hair and even American Pant forgetting those produced in our own country. That is why the foreigners kick us like ball, we keep shouting that Dollar is high, dollar is high when we produce nothing, I mean nothing in the country!


What is going on in Nigeria? What has become of our Nigeria? Could we still rise again to defend that true blood that runs in our veins. Our education is dead, majorities of Nigerian' students are studying in Europe and America, and they said they built many uncivilized universities here and send their wards to USA, Europe, Asia countries to study and the uncivilized Universities here are left for me and you with the professors and their sagging English. The scheme of work doesn't change, no adjustment is made, everyone can become a teacher as far as you have your SSCE and whether you speak right or not, no one cares. You sagged your trouser and put them on your waist and match to the classroom to teach and no one bothers about that because, our education is dead and no one is ready to revive it. We all look forward to go to Europe and America, but those places we are going to study in their schools, it took them time to build their schools and are still building now and forever, they invested a lot of money to make sure that all goes well in their country and here we are clamouring to go over there.



Who will build Africa, if not Africans? Who will build Nigeria, if not Nigerians? Who will build Ghana, Gambia, Sierre Leon, Gabon, Morocco, South Africa, Kenye, Togo, Nigeria, Niger, Chad, Benin, and Cameroon, who? Why must we clamour for those things out there and leave our countries unkempt, why?



Nigerians are in war with themselves I perceived. Things has fallen apart and mother Nigeria is not happy with that. We have become the laughing stock of the western world. No one celebrates Emeka Ike, pete Edochie, Rita Dominic, Olu Jacobs, Omotola, and many out there but we do celebrates Will Smith, Denzi Washington and Mark Wahlberg. We celebrate Arsenal, Man U, Manster Utd, Liver Pool rather than The local League we have in Africa. We celebrate Ronaldo, Messi, and Kaka but our local footballers are abandoned in our streets, no one cares about them. Some of them end up in the street after playing for the nation for five to Ten years. Why are we against each other? Why are we not our brother's keeper? Why is things fallen apart in nigeria? From our captors we also went into captivity. Another captivity of ourselves in the land which supposed to shield us in the raining days. Oh Nigeria! Once a great country but have now reduced to nothing, our lands are flowing with milk and honey but we lack the milk and honey at home. The youths now queue up to play Nairabet, 1960 bet, SureBet and many others that carried them away from books.



We have engineers but we go to China and Korea or rather japan to hire Engineers that would construct our roads for us. We produce nothing, nothing at all but depend on Japanese and the Chinese to produce for us then we buy at a costly price. They have turned our countries to their markets because they knew we lack many things and they are ready to give it to us.


We celebrate their cultures and traditions here in Nigeria but ours are left to suffer to rot. When you look at Nigeria, what question comes to your mind? We will be confronted soon with a Nigeria that lacks her values, traditions, and cultures. A Nigeria that does not know where she is going, a Nigeria that look up the European and American countries. A Nigeria that lacks standard of her future, a Nigeria that is wholly dependent of other continent. A Nigeria that is filled with Terrorists and Nigeria that is unsettled. We don't even controls our media but our former captors does. Nigerians are in war with themselves but they don't know it.

Nigeria's economy is stagnated and it only take the grace of God to move it to another level. I see fear in the eyes of the little children, hope lost in the darkness.

What would become of Nigeria Countries in the Next ten years?



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016

TALE OF SAMBISA CHIBOK


Once we were told with a lying mouth
That our Chibok sisters are missing in
The evil forest of Sambisa but, alas!
They all lied through their smelling lips,
They polluted our hearts and poisoned
Our feet to protest against ourselves in
The name of combing around to fish out
The claimed lost young lasses but it was
A political bomb to threaten the present
Government. one year gone, no Chibok
girls found and government's mouth shut
Because the seat belongs to them now.
Alas! We were fooled blindly by him,
Through that change chains crossed our
Restless feet and we roam no more.
Does Chibok girls really exist or lost?
Those women crying then, were they
Paid to cry to be seen by all as mothers?
Those women protesting on the street of
Lagos, are they all dead after election?
or are they silent because the president does
not appoint them as ministers of this and that?
Where are the Chibok girls promised to
Be found for us when he assumes office?
I dislike politics, I hate politicians!
Politicians dominate each other to injury,
The hairy future of the masses forgotten
Because money seek is far better than the
Assumed confused populace in the state.
Does the Chibok lasses disappearance seems
True in the testament of your bright eyes?
We are fooled politically by the craving for
Change that chain us here and there!
Chibok girls are folktale of deception!
A fiction of disney wonderland and CNA!




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016

THE UNPLANNED WORLD


Why do we have the sky up and not down?
Why does the earth has water all over it?
Why do humans die and never return home?
Why is the moon so far from the earth while
We need light to lit the entire earth when dark?
The moon should have been down to lit the world
More better than how it is now to the humans.



Why all the fingers are not equal as the hand?
Why do we have man and woman in the world?
The man the head, and the woman, a help meet.
The women and men should have been equal and
Do things like brothers and sisters in the house.
Guess what the family will be like if man and woman are equal and share the same idealogy not faith.



Why do we have the Rich and the Poor here?
Why the have and the have-not in the society?
Many begging with nothing to eat and some
Have nothing to eat not even a seed of rice to chew
Many have more than enough to eat and waste,
And you think that this world will be a peaceful
place to lay your head and sleep every night and day?



Why do some ride cars and others have no cars?
Why do many give birth and others die barren?
Are they not from the same maker of the universe?
Is this planet really planned or unplanned plant?
The sky is neither blue, purple, white nor grey,
The animals are not equally created and it hurts.
The tall ones want to be short while the short wants
To be tall, why not make all short or tall?



Women who are black bleach to get fair,
Men who are fair don't bath because they want to
Become as dark as those women who bleach to be seen!
Jungle justice, Aluta continua, continua; lower and
Higher self esteem in the midst of the brotherhood.
Is the world carefully planned based on one eye?
Watch the green grasses soon turn to yellow,
Why not leave them to be green all day long in history?



My eyes is sickening of those things made unplanned which humans abused righteously now and always.
When talking to the cover of my mouth beware
Of the fart of the mouth from flowing because we are living in an unplanned world where mouths also fart.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice of Vincent 2016

Wednesday, 16 March 2016

INFORMAL ROMANCE


Do you still remember your laughter you kept in my heart when we were younger?
Remember those days we stayed under the tree in my compound in the night, we hid from mother's eyes.
I held your feelings and emotions and you moaned,
Then I groaned in pleasurable pleasure.
Do you remember the lines we drew on the clay?


That year I carried you behind the backyard of the house,
I made for your mouth and let mine gumed to yours.
I caressed your perfectly made innocence and penetrate right into your mind and soul and corrupt it.
Remember our song of love, 'ebezina'; we sang then.
That morning I held your thign to my palms, the reddish flavoured gold beat and beat again and again.



Look at what we've made in the eyes of tomorrow!
Your father was like a thorn on our flesh, parading
Like a bull dog and roaring like a lion in the jungle.
Remember we didn't give ears to his barking.
I felt your soft tilted breast and your tongue danced excitedly penetrating through my virgin mouth.



We clothed love and unmasked hatred before us.
Under the love garden we grew together in peace,
We watched the parotting birds sing our love,
The leaves shield us from the dark frozen night.
Then I said 'Juliet takes me to somewhere we will be alone, I will be waiting for your love beside the sea'



Just remember the first time I hugged you behind the
School window, we were not afraid of the teacher.
We were drunk in love even fear was afraid of us.
Those days I stood at the bush path to wait for you,
I was afraid of seeing the eyeball of your father.
The informal romance was hell on earth to leave,
Even when I left you, your face still face me.



There is only one you and me,
Through the imperfection of love we are made.
Drive gently back here we you belong; for
Without the words of love in you am gone.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016
Voice Of Vincent


IN THE OLDEN DAYS


In the Olden days when we wear grasses,
When we dance naked under the rain,
When we were cooking grasses as drug,
When we have no fear in us and fear never
Haunt us just like the way it does now.
We were fine and good to go in the world.


In the olde days when life was for the brave
You marry as many wives as you want
There was no trouble for our fathers but now
When a man marries one wife he can't cope with her.
We are lost and lost in the wood of life.


In the olden days when mothers were wives,
When girls were girls without dirty minds
When wives were wives that never nag,
I should've married then than now that we have
men as women beating their husband at home.


In the days of old, when motor was not invented,
We were fine with horses and camels that never
Had an accident like vehicles does now to us.
Those days when we have no radio and television,
The heads of our youths were at home to impact.



In the olden days when we knew nothing,
We were nothing and nothing knew us;
We were good with throwing of arrows
And killing animals for food but now,
We are killed by the so called canned food.



We played with girls without anything in mind,
The elders removed their wrapper in front of us,
We were never ashamed to walk in the street unclothed, yet we were fine and honest to nature.
Plane never existed to kill us like wandering fowls,
Technologies were not there to mare us to sin,
We were just fine and cool with ourselves but
Now, things have change and change to our own pain.




A pregnant woman was not envious of a nursing mother because she knew her own time shall come.
And a widower should not be jealous of married
Ones because he has the power to remarry any time.
We live like one family and we seek the faceof the gods, religion was never the problem but now it is.
We shall soon see where this new dawn is going to.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016
Voice of vincent

DONT FOOL ME


Don't fool me,
I am not a fool.
Black man, listen!
Don't think having this gray hair is an act of stupidity, I have drank some water before you came.
I have a gray hair which will take you years to get.




Don't make me look like am insane
So that people will make a fool of me.
Everyone has his or her own weaknes,
If I make mistake, return my right to me.



See, don't fool me I am not a fool,
When looking for fool check the street of fools!
Treat me right and I shall serve you right!
For the fact you own here does not mean I am not your elder, I work for you so pay me my dues.



Take me like your brother, don't fool me!
We are in circular world, today is your turn
Tomorrow may be my turn not yours.
If the world turns, the first shall be the last and
The last shall be the first, so don't fool now!



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016
Voice of Vincent

DEAR FRIEND


Dear Friend,
I hope you were not caught up in the street,
I hope you made it to the otherside peacefully;
I was hunted down by fear and weakness.
We started the journey together I know, but
Fate separated us in the eve of the young day.
The tears that now held me up here had been
My companion right from my miserable childhood.
My only hope is that you never fail yourself
Just like the way I have disappointed myself.
Go get the money we couldn't get from the bank,
Go get the Cheque and sign the deal with them.
Loot those that never believed in our dreams
And mess the media for treating us like bad eggs.
My wish is that you come out victoriously,
Because the knitting pulse of my eyes longs
Towards the Roman empire to get that which
We dreamed of and could not get hold of it.
We acted like pussy-cat and they treated us like fools.
Life or death, hit hard on those who sees us as fools!
Peace or pieces, look forward for any watery success!
Race or walk, make your move count in hearts!
We planned to show the world that we are the movie
But fate was faster than our legs, because we got stocked among the Animals called man in busy bush.
Where ever you go or searches my name in the
Forest of men where glory does not last forever;
I have made up my made not to regret any action I have taken with you in our journey of life.
Love does not exist in my mind any more but I
Know it exist in you; it exist in your heart of heart.
We shall see in the other side of life when our death comes, because here we are separated from seeing each other.




(C) John Chizoba vincent
All Right Reserved 2016
Voice Of Vincent



Tuesday, 15 March 2016

OKONBI HAS GONE MAD AGAIN


Watch his moves, Okonbi has gone mad again;
He is drunk in power of the politician.
Look at his shoes dangling on his head,
His socks on his palm, counting the cars.
Move away from his grip, move away!
He could blind you with his 'Sokoto' that swings here and there.



Okonbi has gone mad again like our husband!
Okonbi said he will go to the sky tomorrow,
Okonbi said he was in the moon yesterday,
Okonbi said he knows the number of hair on his head; yes, Okonbi has gone crazy under our nose.
He said he will beat up his mother and unmask
The thousand evening with his spoken words.



Okonbi has gone into another skin rather than his,
Look at him removing his 'Sokoto' in front of those children!
Okonbi, mother is weeping at the backyard for your sake.
Okonbi! Return to the old fold of sanity where
Manners humble itself to the generational wisdom.
Yesterday saw our deeds and today shall we smile.



Hold Okonbi's hands, hold it with a chain,
Hold his teeth but don't chain it, he will eat with it.
Nature has dealt with us without mercy,
Okonbi, once a magical rain of the rainbow
Saving the knight of the hopeful sky to love
Has gone to the kingdom of flies to fly.



Oh, I weep for that young succulent lad of promise,
Okonbi! Okonbi!! Okonbi!!!
Go not with that madness in methods it does not run in the family blood.
Heaven skips the heartbeat of the sun that shines,
Okonbi! Okonbi!! Okonbi!!!



Our Okonbi has gone mad again since he sat with that governor.
Does madness run in the game of politics?
Hold Okonbi's teeth and fingers which look like tiger' claws; hold it before he demage your eyes!
Okonbi, what substance do they mix in wine for you?
Okonbi has gone mad again like our husband.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016



MY LAST WISH


When my eyes closes
And the black and white colour gone,
Let not your tears fall but, let verses of words be written to send my soul to its home.


When my legs could not move again and
The blood within has frozen,
Do not let out a deep scream but seal my soul
With a bleeding words that can not be uttered by any tongue.



When my face goes up and my mouth closes
Invite no professional mourners, but call out
The Ohafia maidens and the Nkporo queens
Let them pain my side with a broken verses of poetry
Sing a tattered song that could not be chorused.



When a history without pages is written of me,
A dirge accompanied with a whitish sorrow,
Write off the part of me that is in your heart.
Wipe away my name which you say with a hidden
Tears in your sold eyes.


When the children could not come close
To the log of wood laid face up and back down,
Let none dance from their hearts for me;
For a poet knows his true value when he dies.
Let no grave be dung, let no coffin be bought,
Just put me on the surface of the sinful earth
Let me rot and join others to rejoice.


Flower my side with written poetry,
A spoken words sung by sick poets;
For only a sick poet knows the heart of the dead.
Finger my head with penned emotions,
Caress my frozen brain with a skeletal feelings;
Do not mourn for me, no, do not morn at all.



When the world becomes silent behind me.
A dark image covered my future,
Know you that I am not dead but alive in spirit.
Do not weep for me; for a poet is better in death.
Do not put me in the fridge like a fish, I am not a fish,
No rites should be done, just leave me to go,
Miss me but let me go.


(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016

MONKEY ON CLOTHES


Look at that monkey over there!
Can someone tell me what he is wearing?
Is that not an oversize Agbada he's wearing?
Yeaaaah! look at his shoes, are they really shoes?
His 'fila' falling here and there,
Is that how a normal human dresses?


The neck of his Agbada is on his shoulder and
He is putting on the cloth on its back,
The embroiding is visible to his skin.
The sokoto sags to his waist like a prisoner in th US;
Can you see his displayed pants?
Oh! No! Not again.



Can you watch the way he dances without his legs?
Is that how a natural human dance?
Does his teeth looks like that of a man or woman?
Maybe he belongs to the Animatician' Kingdom.


Yeaaaaaah! I have seen his buttock!
He is a monkey with a human buttock!
He is a monkey fashioned from the animal kingdom!
But, I have seen him once in the government house,
He was painted as the president of the country.
So many of them have joined the animal farm!


Oh, oh, oh, oh!
All the money he acquired should have make him better or even finer!
Does he have no mirror in his room?
Hmmmmmmmmh!
I can not put on Agbada again if those
That wears it always look like monkeys.


Watch out for his shoes!
There is gum under it!
Make sure he is thoroughly searched before he leaves otherwise, you will lose all your money to his gummed shoes that he put on.
Those monkeys in your party are wiser than you think.
Once they get hold of your fortune, they embezzle it, so becareful here!



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016


I STILL HAVE YOUR SMILE


I STILL HAVE YOUR SMILE


That year in the lighted classroom,
We sat together and parrotted the ABC.
We were the last skin layer of the moon,
We shone brightly to the sky and the people,
Then you gave me your smile to hold for you.


That year behind the Udala tree in my backyard,
I kissed you for the first time without any guilt
and, I showed you the world through my eyes;
You gave me your smile to keep for you in my laughter.
I touched your emotions and feelings gently,
It was the first time I saw you moan diligently.




That year when we went wild in love,
I found comforting restoration in the mounting redness of the woman you are made to be,
You gave me a kiss to hold for you till eternity;
Here is your kiss I still have it on my palms.
The image of the caved love we drew is still here in my heart.



That year I cried white tears for your love,
Tears that tells a lost stories of imperfection.
When I have travelled far in the world' deserts,
When I have climbed the world's highest mountains;
When I closed my eyes before saying your names,
When I have seen what is meant for the eyes
Now, I know you are more than a precious stone.



That year, I still remember that year we dance
Naked under the rain without being ashamed
Of those watching from afar in anger.
You gave me your hope and smile to keep,
I still have them with me in my bosom.
Come take them any time you need them to live.



I live for you the life in your life,
The man in my man lives in your heart.
You are my beat and I am your beat,
Next time you come around my heart again,
You will see those things belonging to you humbly arranged in my heart till you need them to live.
I still have your smile with me till eternity.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016







Tuesday, 8 March 2016

WHITE PAGE OF MY LOVE


She used to live here in my heart before I wrote her that poem again, now she is gone to place unknown.
We used to meet at the crossed road where two love
Lines met, but the lines are uttered with soured lips.


I tried so hard to paint those faces we painted on the clay ground, but the brushes where lost in my mind.
Under the trees where we naked our feelings to the epitomy of the beautiful sun, I sat without a hope of her.


Beside the road yesterday, I hid my tears saying her names to the humans and the breeze that passed by.
We spoke to the grasses, to the buildings with smiles,
Everything about her was the best I have ever seen.
Now she is gone without a word of goodbye because
I wrote her that poem of the famished hearts again.


Speaking to her absence was my first and my heart hurts; hurts to see her go to another man's arms in tears.
My heart still remembers her love and affections,
Standing between lost and want, I wish I could see her again dashing to my arms like a child in joy.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016




Thursday, 3 March 2016

LAUGH AS LONG AS YOU BREATH


Laugh as much as you breath today,
Love as much as you live, learn as much as you see;
When the blood in your vein shall return to the oceans and the tears in your eyes make it way to the seas, and your spits journey to the underground,
Then shall you not laugh again to be seen by men.



There is no Extra time to everyone, time is important,
Procrastinate not, you are in charge of everything that comes in and out of your body, mind and spirit.
So make every day count in your life and others.
Read as much as you can read in a minute,
Re-learn as much as you can in every seconds,
Time is important, Time is important, no extra time given.



The earth in your bones shall soon return home,
The body you nourish every morning shall soon fade,
The ears shall soon hear no more of the saints,
The eyes shall soon see no more of the whites,
Time is important to the nose, ears and eyes.
Mind what you see in every minutes of the day,
Becareful on what you hear, they might kill you.



The world does not belong to anyone, no!
No one shall be here forever as you think, yes!
We are in a market, you come and buy your own;
After buying you go, and another comes in different form, different design, different idealogy and face.
Time is important! time is important! no extra one!
So do all you have to do tomorrow now!!!



Laugh as much as you breath ' cause, you may laugh no more when the earth turns twenty- twenty and the
Sun turns Thirty-thirty with the moon, then you're gone into the desert bosom of death to rest in peace.
We all belongs to the land, and land, does not belongs to anyone born of a woman on this earth, mind time.



My pen shall speak always to those that cares to listen,
Every morning I wash my tomorrow with today' water not minding the foul scent it gives to my nose.
Who knows that Dollar in Nigeria will turn to four hundred naira in the name of 'Change'?
That is tomorrow for you and more is coming.
Change is inevitable as death is also, brothers they are.
So time is important! time is important! marry your time and make yourself happy!!




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved '16

K.A- I


Kick against indiscipline; they say,
But they kick against our income;
Kick against the youth's progress,
Kick against the future of our futures,
Kick against the heart that tend good
Rather than kicking against indiscipline.
We still have prostitutes in our streets,
We still have drunkards languishing
Right in the gutters of our streets;
We still have gamblers right beside my nose,
We still have armed robbers parading
And hurting people with their guns and nobody
Is kicking against them in their operations.
What are they kicking against here?
What are they made to kick against there?
We still have boys that have their trousers
Put on their waists, and their pants showing.
We still have fraudsters in their cyber world,
We still have 'YAHOO' boys and girls;
A foregone culture that needs a re-visit.
The gods of our land still weep for a
Change of identities by their children.
Once a glorious country has turned into a dump
Of great nuisance from the animal kingdom.
They Kick against indiscipline but they don't
kick against their pockets that are full of
money which where exploited from us.
They arrest every youth on the street selling,
And jobs are never seen for them to do.
We still have kidnappers right on our doors,
We still have corrupt leaders barking behind,
We still have ritualists with their ego so high;
Are we not in the end time?
Who is deceiving who here in the country?
Men still beat their wives, and, children
Still insult their parents without looking back.
Our education is dead of cultism and cheating,
Sex trade and child abuse are still rampard here,
What are you kicking against, yourself?
Marital problems still blind many of us,
Churches still burn their members and
Some are deceived to perish in hell.
What are you kicking against, friend?




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016

FAMISHED HEARTS


Tell Chinua Achebe
That things just fell apart
Not then when he saw the vision.



We have no Okonkwo in the land any more and
The animals are more in our communities,
George Orwell's Pigs of our century.


They said " All animals are equal in a democratic land but now, we discovered that some are more equal than others in the same democratic country" why?



Our hearts are femished,
Wandering in the empty street in search of nothing
And nothing is seen to eat nor drink in this famished
Lost land called a home, it not a home but forest!



Tell Chinue Achebe
That the vision he saw years back now hurt us more.
The whites are more in power than the days of great Okonkwo; and we are left unclothed in the land.



All we see are famished hearts, famished souls,
A haunting heart that seize the call of grace,
Ignominious!
Ignominious!


Shall the dry bones ever rise again here?
Things has fallen apart in this country and
The center could no longer hold together.
The shoes we wore yesterday,
Now walks on marbles of sorrow.


If wisdom will be a friend to those Pigs,
If suffering will bare no trend against us,
And we forget our plights with the rain,
The mirror will be a better view to connect us
To the world where tomorrow exist in joy.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016


DAUGHTER OF AFRICA


Open not your body to the public;
For our culture and tradition forbids it,
Cover those things that need to be covered.
Don't walk like a cat and call it Cat-walk,
It is not done here in African land.


Your mother knows that and should have taught
You that before you mingled with those white skins.
Our culture forbids a woman exposing her chest,
Our tradition forbids a woman chewing gum in the
Presence of the elders without regards for them.



When you exposed that body and every eyes behold it, no man will come to price you at your father' house.
You must not put on those fingers like tiger' claws.
Learn to pound yam in the kitchen and bring your husband's heart at home; for an African Daughter is
Known to capture her husband' heart with food.



Plait not your hair with a mermaid's hair,
It is not culture of Africans, we plait with 'Owu'.
Learn to kneel while greeting your father;
For it is the first rule from the heart of Africa.
You must not stay out late at night and don't club;
For Africans are not known with clubbing in motel.



Sell not your virginity to the men out there,
Virginity stands for greatness among African women.
Daughter of Africa, change your view about Africa,
We are not Monkeys but humans with flesh and blood, and wisdom from the gods and our ancestors.


Our women are made to be pure, holy and skillful,
Not a thing made for the dogs and vagabonds.
Don't imitate those that will lead you to your early grave; for the gods watch every act of stupidity in you.
Daughter of Africa, be the mother not the child.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016

THE DAY JUSTICE DIED


The day peace was imprisoned was
the day I died without death present.
The day mercy was kidnapped, nothing
Was left for us but pains and trouble
Between our teeth that clamours for saliva.
The day justice was murdered we saw injustice;
Injustice that came with a white gown to
Deceive us that we are in THEM-ALL-CRAZY.
Yes, we welcomed him with an Opened teeth
And sold our conscience for a white grey paper.
Who shall look at us again and know us?
We have murdered the future of our tomorrow,
Let's continue without blaming anyone,
We are the architech of our own misfortunes.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent




OUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED


When we were much younger,
We lose sight of the value of time.
We get busy with our lives,
We don't even realise the hours that pass
Into days, weeks, months and years;
We never knew that our days were numbered.



But,
Our health concerns has made us to realise
Our own mortality and the numbered days.
It is this brevity of life that makes time significant,
So becareful how you live your life here,
The wealth you are gathering shall be anothers.



Our days are numbered like goats are numbered,
Our days are numbered like cows are numbered,
Our days are numbered like fishes are numbered
And no one knows how many days he is to live.
Do all you have to do now, tomorrow is too late!



You are not promised tomorrow,
Live your life as if you are not going to see tomorrow.
Do not think you live according to the number of your hair?
No, men have different date, time, and day of death.
Even grasses can live again but man live not forever.



The cloth you are wearing could be your last,
The food you are eating could be your last,
That journey you are about to embark now,
Could be your point of no return today and forever.
That shoes could be the last shoe you wear by yourself,
becareful of your life, you are not the
Owner, the owner lives above.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016







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