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Slipping Rosary

(Written by Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu and Frank Uche Okoye.)

The night was calm, and the silence was undisturbed

Yet the evil that dwelled in it remains uncured

It was only a matter of seconds would she be awakened,

By the lightning and the slow opening of the curtains,
She sat up on the bed as she stared hard at the window,

She could swear she saw faces through the flashes of the lightning,

She froze scared as her hand trembled with her Rosary,

Then she saw it, the faces gazing at her from the window,
She felt the walls closing in as she felt them move closer,

She smelled the air of death as she muttered a prayer,

As the reapers surrounded her but didnt come closer,

As the darkness echoed at the entry of another…
Frightened, the rosary dropped in fear of the shadow projection

Echoes heard her  sympathetic pleading words in repetition

Escaping flash of light brought in a memory flash section

At the back of her mind, she could see all in quick succession….
There was a willingness of a struggle and the hatred of his affection

From behind she could feel the blades slowly cutting her silver cord

The rush of pleasant orgasm in the evil of a angry flood

As the windows banged, the air became humid and temperature dropped


In a nick of time, her roof had tens of vultures

Her eyes turned pale, she fell in love with the evil fashion

Double tapping her innermost expression

She stretched her hands to grab the rosary in a motionless action….

Bird in an open cage

​For a book there is a page
Yes, in looks, she’s so pretty,
But rate beauty by its age,
Would she still look pretty
When she’s wrinkled or in fifty…
Would she return to you in an open cage
Would her styles and smiles still be sweet
When lifes plier plucks off her teeth…
Fly my dear, I rate excellence by its end,
So continue to rise till the end….
I will wait for you, I will never bend.

Princess Blaq

Have you ever had a moment
Where there seems to be a scent
Perfuming right in at your front
But the evil in you seem too faint
And then you suddenly become a saint
Liver and brain seem to fail but the eyes never blinks
A best definition for the enchantments…
I’ve stood opposite Angels along hells road
Been ran over by long blue buses that seem too old
Yet I didn’t get to know her for I lost my bold
But in my mind, naming her was all I could hold
A song never sang, she was all to be told,
A type at seventy that would have no fold
A type all unhappy married men lack
Dark, so I named her Princess Blaq…
For she definitely looks like, the best God ever made.

Underneath the yellow moon

​We laid underneath the yellow moon

Mumbling about the pasts and the soon

Seven pretty jolly good fellows and I….

From wayback, the clean, dirty, bad and good.

We laid, legs out; heads on the woods,

Fused, up the galaxy’s doors we stared,

Listening to the revibrating muted sky…

The feelings were so unexplainable 

Like the eyes that can’t see itself.

Gazing at the sky’s map, arts and lights

Funny, it draws, in all layers of its shelf.

Ooo…. What can be life!!

We laid underneath the yellow moon

Wondering about the rejections of the craft 

Should the Creator…

Had written a proposal for grant;

To create a world so beautify in sight

Sounds, smell, and magically feelings…


We laid underneath the yellow moon

Wondering how time is so capable,

Capable of the immeasurable flights….

Our moment met the moons low tune

Where all we shared down previous past

Became unsettled and shed tears down same path

Gushing and Dancing out in memorial honey tour

Surely, we will miss this world when we die.

Pa. Pius Onyeche

​(In memory of a son of Onyeche (Pa. Pius Onyeche)

​Life and death has its own budget

We are all born into the market,

To trade, wait for tenures and turns

In queues of sadness, joy and fun

When our trade is done, we return…. 

In mats, caskets, I bet we forget

Every bit of heart beat we got.

When our trade is done, we return

To account for the windowshops

And the number of sown sleeves

Not as Adam and Eve to the leaves

But as impact to that we believe

When the trade is done, we return

Leaving behind the dry and burnt leaves.

Upon the sands where the body sleeps,

Motionless beside the deepest of life hole.
When the trade is done, we return

To answer questions irrespective of race

Like… Pa., what did you purchase?

Did your heart pick only the black paints?
O gentle heart, that…you’ve traded,

Shall guarantee the fate of your soul.

When the trade is done, we return

To beyond, where spirits scare the kids 

Restocked into the market as improvise

For every souls that departs…

…… Day and night….

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