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Monthly Archives: April 2012

Unintentional Existence: Sailor





    The paddling gentleman lays cold on his cradle bed beside the firewall
    Many eyes shearing tears and bodies reckless as they gaped at him
    Wind of the eastern Nile, Wind of the western Niger,
    Which one of you would sail the gentleman home to rest
    Whitish pleasant music home of peace and comfort
    Wind of the eastern Nile, Wind of the western Niger,
    Which one of you is scared of the famous or obscure?
    That in the room of grey and silence
    You would not retrieve his will and last words of blessing
    While the gentleman sail across the lonely still sea.

© 2012 (D²rupoesy)℠ thetruepoesy™
Written By: Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Tales Of A Wife: She Can’t Wait

she can't wait

she can’t wait

She is an accident of nature
Totally beautiful from head to toes
She once stood next to him
Things are certainly not as before
She can’t wait because he is not Bill Gate

This girls voice is still an organ in his soul
She knew his voice, the smell of his soul
That; that shines, no longer brightens their souls
She looks into the future with eyes of fear
The man she sees got Wills she thinks are mere wishes.

She just can’t wait
To join him complete his paintings
She doesn’t want
To be an old beautiful lady
Sitting next to him in a work of art.

Though all wives are married
Surely, not all married are wives
Tears on her eyes
She still looks into the future with eyes of fears
The truth she sighs, she just can’t wait.

written by: Onyeche Vincent Onyeka
© 2012
(D²rupoesy)℠ thetruepoesy™

Tales Of A Wife: So Many No

The windowpane binds
And holds on to the glass
To the very dead end
Despite the dust and friction
Love is such a good thing
Song writers sing

Some answers fly like a jet
All on high hills, wonderful hips,
Kissing lips and all the same hair net.
Adorable apple-bottom for a clarinet
Most remarkable forget not her lovely step
Which never wait for a lagging clock.

Not only her even many after her
The kings’ daughters along bush parts
Farms, gardens and down the same roads.
First, a passion of across loves oceans,
Then the passion flies in air
But in one direction

She has this voice similar to hers
A smile similar to frown
A Kings dream for a lady in a crown
She is the thousands in town
Same rider of different horses
Shouting so many no.

Cock: Knock By Heartbreak

A thud in heartbeat
A sigh of heartbreak
Tears prevent the ink from writing
Waning the paper into tearing.

Despite the fact that she is caring
I have been deceived by adoring.
Love in slow-motion,
I have been misled into falling.

Funny enough, it was all of my heart
I cast into one basket loving,
Now it is rocking, booming, crashing,
And crumbling…

My tears a downpour,
Grab an umbrella.
My love-cake incorrect flour,
Leave the dinning.

Now her tears prevent my chin from smiling
And destroying my smile-channel.

As A Kid

T. Iwelumo

T. Iwelumo

As a kid

As a kid, I so much heard adages that I never understood until I grew up. The bible helped in differentiation: the good from the bad, since I was scare of going to hell. Everyone has a past that keeps hunting his or her mind. When I was ten years old, I came across three elderly men sitting beneath a tall palm tree lamenting on the past years, which they miss. The stories they told were touching that I had to shear tears with them. I never had things to think of; I played and ran around the street in pantaloons. Electricity supply was a failure hence hopscotch, football and hide and seek were my favorite games. For this present day child, computer games and movies have taken over my favorite games. My parents were neither poor nor rich yet they had a farm. I hated farm work that at then when my mother would ask my elder sister and I to carry a basket fill of cassava from the farm to the house, we would wonder why a mother would be so heartless subjecting her own little children to such stressful hard work for little did we know it was part of the parental care, and she loved us. Keeping things hide or hair of course, I never hesitated to half my basket as I walk through the lonely path. I learnt pounding fufu by force. At then the mortar always ran as I stroke the pistil crushing the yam; so I would summon all my younger ones to get hold the running mortar. My dad never made mistakes giving me multivitamins whenever I leave for school and I also never forgot to deposit it in the waste bin as soon as I got to school.
There are many things on earth that exist crystal clear, but we realize only when we fail. When I was ten, I made a bet with a friend. The bet was called hit and fall. Anyone who succeeds in striking down his opponents’ property would own it. A very good sport I felt as I made success claiming his stuffs. At that year, my mum had a store. One day he came to buy sweats, as I picked up to sweat cup to give him his articles, he stroke it down.
Of course, that was my mums’ stuff; I fought hard with him until the neighbors came. They separated us and reported the case to my mum when she came back.
I was thinking I just saw the sunlight for the last time and was annoyed that I wouldn’t have a befitting burial as I was a bad kid. So surprising she did not beat me up like other days, but yelled and scared the living soul off me. This narrow path seems not worthy but it is the generator of my decency.
The past plays a major role in the present that if there is something I would not dear for the love I have for my mother; it is gambling.

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