Skip to main content

AWKWARDNESS by John Chizoba Vincent.

carving their names on the world’s flesh like scars,
they won’t waste their breath on the news of dead men.
if there are things humans should learn, it is how to
leave their emotions out of the equations uncourtly,
Keep an eye on their flank, naturally and neutrally.
under a worried sky, the wind striped, blood shattered,
not in this rat hole shall children learn to sip passage of
rotten loyalty from their fathers. through sun and
through shadows, we’ll walk by the side of the sun.


the sky, the earth’s fate is bound till eternity,
If that up goes down, the other is a reminiscence of
forgetfulness which is seen in the heart of women.
we can heal each other, we can reclaim perpetuity,
a fable told from the book of Azra, trust issues but
not in the cuddled care of mother fate whose template
Of love swells and faints at the sight of an oblong face.
let’s man this forest of people that beloved hatred,
let this castle of cruelty home you after the night.
  
we’ll watch the black linen of the stars across
the eyes of the Eagles in the sky for boring of nature,
we’ll book Edom for the sins of Moses when time
takes part in the howling of the oceans could be
So devastating and a loved one ineptness delayed.
the clumsiness of the moon is what made the sun,
let those without mouth render a theme of odium
to another forgone yesterday but remembered today.
we are the fault in the skin of the humble stars.

we are back from where we began our journey,
we smelt the fragrance of yesterday’s fire now. the
slavery of every torn garment is awkward of peace.
you heard our voices through the wind when you
listen to it over and over again without a double ear.
every one of us that leaves finds a place in the skies’ body.
a curse. A spell. A magic. A bound. Every spell cast
was horrible and ghost hunting among men of the past,
yet, our fathers betrayed us with lack and backwardness.


take a walk pass memory lanes, we’ll leave our voices
at the back of the moon before morn awakes freedom.
how we built shatter for broken souls, how we pulled gorily
and miseries from their eyes, how we heard their agony
shrieked yesteryear was something unspeakable.
we’ll see our imagination again at their feet and eyes,
taught the flowers how to carry our smell to tomorrow;
we’ll not make the mistake of selling our children into poverty again
but, we’ll carve a new world around not in awkwardness  


John Chizoba Vincent is a prolific poet, writer, and cinematographer. He has written several books which include Hard Times.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

From the novel entitled, "Beyond Imagination" by Oladele Dada.

 Oladele Dada. It was dawn. The chilly dust-laden wind formed dense fog on the road. The rocky hills and the tall trees made Ajewole a beautiful town. The birds sang aloud, and clanging of stainless dishes in the neighbourhood suggested human activity was at its peak. Humans had begun to move to their various destinations. Adunni had trouble with child bearing and her husband was worried. Then she booked an appointment with her doctor. After several tests, the doctor suggested the couple be patient and that she will surely get pregnant. Not long after, Adunni was pregnant. After several months, Adunni was delivered of a boy. The women in her neighbourhood, alongside the children, sang and danced to her home to celebrate with her. Her husband, Fredrick Olagbade, thanked the Lord and named the boy Juwon.     As Juwon grew, his mother had another child whose name was Olakitan. Juwon was intelligent and his parents were struggling to make ends meet. As poverty st...
6 comments
Read more

BOOK EXCERPT: The Farmhouse by Omoruyi Uwuigiaren

The Farmhouse  by Omoruyi Uwuigiaren Chapter One The Family `Once upon a time in the old town of Gid, an old farmer called Erasmus had a horse and a son. The boy’s name was Jason, and the horse was Francis. They lived in a farmhouse, and Francis took them everywhere they went. The farmer had no wife. She died after Jason was born. Erasmus vowed never to remarry and had remained a widower ever since. Taking care of Jason and Francis alone was never easy, but the farmer promised his late wife on her deathbed that he was going to raise Jason into a fine man. One sad morning, the cockerel said it was dawn. The disturbance woke Jason. The boy stormed out of sleep. He removed the blanket and rolled out of bed. He went to the window and peered out. The weather was clear, and the boughs of trees bowed and danced to the sweet movement of the morning breeze. Jason liked the morning, and then he carried himself to the sitting room, where his father was on his knees saying his morning prayers....
1 comment
Read more

NEW RELEASE: Those Ghostly Victorians by Annette Siketa

  Those Ghostly Victorians by Annette Siketa ABOUT THE BOOK At its zenith, the belief in ghosts in the Victorian era bordered on the hysterical. From stately homes to deserted wells, no dwelling was complete without a resident ghost. Halls and mansions and even the odd palace or two, spawned a multitude of family legends, many of which still persist. Many people claimed to have direct contact with a ghost through an object such as a ouija board or a pen, the latter collectively known as 'spiritual writing'. For example, a secretary allegedly continued to take dictation from his employer long after the latter was dead. Whether it was through books, plays, or supposedly true stories, the influence of the supernatural was profound. And it is not difficult to understand why, especially in the 'lower class', the majority of whom were uneducated. With nothing but drabness and poverty on the horizon, events such as a windy night or a violent storm were likely to set the ima...
Post a Comment
Read more