e-Paper Poetry of Vinx

Category Archives: Prose

Waiting for sunsets

The cock may crow
at the break of dawn
hopeful we are for,
tomorrow’s sun…

There are times I
think about leaving
and where I will be
lost in my sleep

On the thin ice
we are all waiting
like an employee,
for that we reap…

On our payroll
is the same caption:
saying; “when I call,
don’t be stunned“.

(C) 2021 http://vinzpoetry.Wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Jars of scars


A round of applause for my skin
That tells of places that I’ve been
The pinching pains witnessed and seen
As an adult and as a teen

Battles I won and didn’t win
Are fulcra of my flapping wings
I’ve been battered by troubled seas
Lost my feathers and lost my fins

Scratched by tiggers, smoked by kilns
Picking stains that can’t be cleaned
I’ve lost my nails in quaking scenes
Under the bridge is where I’ve been…

I’m a board of bruise and blisters
Gotten from sharks and accipiters
I’ve swam in the deadliest waters
Precluding weights on my shoulders

Shedding sweats and making blunders
I’ve bled on all stones and flowers
Even on same spots and corners
That gave me scars I remember

Round of applause for the monster
Who happens to be a painter,
I see him now as a teacher
And judge him not by his cover…

Lessons I learned from all my scars
Are never the same in my jar
Not even an exploding maar
Or scars firm as harmattan cheddar

Wider than oceans or dark as tars
Can stop me from loving these scars
Outward or within, low or high
On the verge of life’s draining bars

I don’t care if a trocar
Comes plucking off all I garnered;
A life lived without scars and chars
Is like being a stringless guitar.

© 2021 http://vinzpoetry.Wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Hazel’s diary: Forever heart


Life has no manual but a daughter
That would one day become a mother
But before the bloom hits her flower

I play catcher with her all the time
Reciting old and new nursery rhymes
She is my kid, my friend and a gem

Just like sunshine to the moonlight
My face she brightens and mood she lifts
Laughing like a drain all day and night

All in one and a heart warmer
Privileged am I, as a father
To a truly beautiful daughter

She makes me feel a certain way
While watching her grow everyday
Into a beautiful art of clay

One day she may outgrow my lap
And the ride she does on my back;
All I know is; our love will never slack.

© 2021 Http://Vinzpoetry.Wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Beclouded rose

Starring in the roles of ecstasies
Are bewitching flowers from precious trees
That exists in the sacred rhapsodies
Of fickle hearts catching pitter-patter,
From the styles and stigmas that deters
Immortals from grace as they pander.

This very pedal has an inner beauty
That conforms not with confidentiality
Instead her fragrance, in high velocity
Make the honeycombs to never run dry
As it willingly dispenses cravings into beehives
Transmitting signals stamen long to have.

This flower is configured to shine and rule
Her pride rests on her own receptacle
She’s beauty personified, yes it’s true
Like Aphrodite’s in reincarnation
Stretching back from time of creation
Till now, none can compete with her perfection

Aside the artifact in the treasure chest
Inside the ecstasy, she appears stainless,
Big and soft, classy and simple, yet complex
As her shadow, I’ve seen her naked by the mirror
Intently conceiving herself a pure allure
Whereas outside the illusion she has many scars and errors.


© 2021 http://vinzpoetry.Wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Lost in void

Stay focus no matter what
Posterity is a needle eye
Only the right and just
Would eventually pass through,

No matter the circumstances
Wrong is wrong and it is
As big as an elephant…
But, how can I stay on course

When an impeccable carnage
Of distraction keeps hovering
With a million booby traps
Over me from page to page,

Hunting my mental health and
Making me a caricature while
An Elephant passes through
The tiny eye of a needle.

The masquerades no longer dance
To tones in the market square
But to the vibrations of money;
No wonder my soul left my flesh

Distancing itself from my falls…
And the shames of the cruel worms
In my stomach drumming and
Releasing hits songs back to back…

How can I stay on course
Paddling in a troubled sea
Misled by credible wind of sail
And a devoted broken compass,

Into a world of negative trends
Where every wrong is praised
And right is stoned to death
Or possibly aborted before birth…

How can I! When I am startled
In the dark, by my own shadow,
And a voice within me that echoes
My failures every break of dawn.

© 2021 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Indescribable

Outcomes of our fall,
Has an open door
Coming from a war
We may tag as life,
Fighting for our lives
Gaining dust for ranks.

Scythe or by broom
People still presume
We roam in their rooms
When we turn to ghosts
Whose breath cease to fit
While the maggots eat.

People think we see,
Walk and always feel
All they tag as real…
Could it be an end
Or a sort of bend
To a whole new blend?

Death breeds afterlife
We were once alive
To say otherwise
Now we are the myths
That are real or not
Until shadows exit…

On this battlefield
Life is short indeed
Silence is the shield
Separating lines
Yes, none can describe
What death may look like.

©2021 http://vinzpoetry.Wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Scythe of fate

Another day, another breath
Of not waking up in the depths
Sometimes I scream inside my tent
Waking up from the blanks of rest

Another day, another breath
Of not waking up in the depths
From the voids that cause me to shed
It all seems like I lose my head;

Another day, another breath
Of not waking up in the depths
Wondering what it would be like
In total void away from life…

Another day, another breath
Of not waking up in the depths
Within my faith there is despair
Lying next to my greatest fear

Another day, another breath
Of not waking up in the depths
Transparent yet still not clear
One day I would be missing here…

Another day, another breath
Of not waking up in the depths
Trees may fall, the leaves may dry
I heard that, the soul never dies

Another day, another breath
Of not waking up in the depths
Wondering if soul is a myth
Created to ease the scythe of fate.

(C) 2021 http://vinzpoetry.Wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Tears in all I have seen


I have seen flags
Raised in borders
I have seen tapes
Encroaching lines…

The words I heard
Carried by winds
Came in varied
In tones and tongues…

I have heard truths
Subdued by lies
Carried my both
Adults and youths

I have seen blood
From veins and genes
I have seen guns
I have seen dust…

I have seen flesh
The thick and soft
I have seen swords
Slice them like breads…

I have seen heat
I have seen snows
I have seen rains
Flush away souls

I have seen birds
Creating nest
I have seen jets
Shredding their eggs

I have seen shells
Emptied on lands
I have seen bombs
Drop from the sky

I have seen girls
I have seen boys
Become friends
Sometimes strangers

I have seen parts
Of bodies reaped
I have seen legs
Opened and raped…

I have seen things
Awful and weird
I have seen moon
Subdued by light

I have seen books
Termed as Holy
Read by same folks
Killing for God

I have seen riots
I have seen flames
I have seen tears
Drip from pillows

I have seen men
Enjoying war…
It never ends
It just replays

From tradition
And geo regions
To religions
And possessions

Strangely, it is
The common thing
That bonds men that
Tears them apart

And it worsens…
By every dawn
And sunsets of
Generations…

I wish I could
From the comfort
Of my bedroom
Fix the whole world

Turn things a new
But I am part
Of the problem
Destroying earth.
(C) 2021 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Lament from tribal marks

Before the mouth produces a sound
Before the tongue would even be heard
I provided details of such nativity…
To tradition; I was its nitty gritty,

Finding my way down torn mortal flesh
Significantly more than scars can fetch
I had varying lines on the leather trace
Birthed from the blades of tribes and race.

I dignified pride, I was the mark of heritage
A healer older than the rock of age
I saved millions of lives from a bloodbath
Although I was also a victim of my own fate

I provided a tribal identification
Until my hosts felt I was an ugly vulture
A cock and bull hovering a cultural based
Disfiguring a supposed beautiful face…

As the night makes way for a new day
My existence gradually fades away
From bodies I gave the warmest embrace
Distinguishing them from another tribe and race.

(C) 2021 http://Vinzpoetry.Wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu
%d bloggers like this: