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Hot for all

We blacks got the body of a goddess
So soft as a fur, an all-round bliss
Even at eighty we will still be hot
Our hearts are the type, never to be hurt
Intimacy with us is a detoxicant
Our love have all eternal relevance
Longevity nature brings as we sprout
With a type of flame never burns out.
Beyond the walls of Earth we are the best
Even in the grave, we will still look hot
Our dark flesh are the type, never to be burnt
Hence God charged His Angels over our head
But the way we rock, turn, twist and fend
Makes even the Guardian Angels to feel lust
Indeed; we black colored skinned are the best.

©2020 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Religious regret

When we were just kids
We were told some tales
And read some in books
Fairy and histories
Of how twin killings
Were abolished; then
And how the crosses
Became refuge from
So commendable.

But as at this dawn
Seems histories drew
Wrong pictures of us
Our tradition and pride
Was washed off in seas
Retracing our path
I see strange footprints
Unmentioned in books
Gun powders, claiming
Quadruplets every seconds

We had our monarchy
Running well in ancients
But brainwashed and slaved;
Even shrines we burnt
Turned mosque and church
Chief priest we condemn
Has now evolved
Preaching and performing
Miracles, commanding crowds
Africa gods inside white clothes.

©2019 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Edit the color pictures

Rage, anger, and war;
Why do we make out
Fire from harmless smoke?
Why do we throw fists
When we will later
Hug, hold hands in feast?

Before blends of wines
Yes we heard it all
The torture and pains
Whether black or white
I am not racist
Put that on hash tags.

Call me what I am
Raw; not what I am
To bullets that harms
I do not expect
Ants for elephant.

But, please desist from
Putting me under
Your ill expression
When with disclaimers
You can say; “Nigga”
And still go scot free…

On life screen, everyone
Is but a racist,
So tune the pictures
To black and white views
For these cameras
Has had enough blood.

©2018 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Native Fly: A Faded Blackman

At times I ask;
“Who is now the fool”…
Is being black
Really beautiful?

From kings to slaves
Demanding a place
From slaves to kings
Rejecting their place.

©2018 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Dark but light

Clustering in unity
Representing my community
Proud of my identity…
I am the black tamarind plum
I am not just small
But mighty, ask my adversary

Although at times
The wind do come
But like seeds and shells
I am hard as well
Hard to succumb
To any form of difficulties.

©2018 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Off the beaten track

Who broke into the stores on the street
If it is not a black man he is bleached
And who pulled the trigger in the club
It must be a black man’s gun or a toy,
Hence he is chained and wasted in bangles
Wandering from breaking news and wounds
Bleeding to the vice of lights that mingle
With complexions attracting word called evil.

Oh yes…! On the outer I am so black
But my soul goes off the beaten track
Throwing love towards the fires of flaw
Waiting patiently to regain the floor,
Not because I am so scared of war
But because the rainbow has all…
Hence I show the world pleasant flavor
And not a storm of an awful odour.

© 2018 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Fela Kuti – African Chief

By now, you should know Fela
His records are as long as a pole
Like a King; he was not buried in holes
But ascended to become a god…

Please, bow to greet an immortal man
He has walked on acids and fires
Well barefooted; and had bathed
With the magmas of volcanoes…

He had torn tears and bled blood
Hence on his dark African head
You will see a red colour cap
With two long Eagle feathers…

From the age of his heritage
Came his staffs and chains
Made from the toughest trunk
Of the largest Elephants

He was fearless like the lions
Not because his pants and capes
Were made from the skins
Of the beast in thick forest

But while he walked and talked
The planetary bodies trembles
His dance awakened the sleeping ghost
By the boldness of historical voice

He never for ones chased the flies
When he swung his white horse tail
But he made the ancestors rejoice
On the ship of which he sailed.

2018 vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Knocking on the door (Iku eka’ozo)

The time
When parents
Is gone…

The time
To knock door
By self
For love
Is come

Ku’ eka. (knock hands)
Ozo… (door)
If you
So truly
Love her!

Of Agbor
Will say:
So we
Are here

We came
For a charm
A Rose
Whose scents
We drink..

En’yi (we)
Racho onyen (came finding someone)
Si’kode (that will)
Bu’ye (give)
Enyi nni. (us food)

These sweet words
The wide
Long door
Is opened

Sweet maidens
Starts to
Take turns

In wrappers
From heads
To toes
Come out

We look
We pick
The one
We chose.

©2018 vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Dirty man

White on the inside
If you doubt, please cut
So doubts can cease

Should my blood stains hide
Not; who I am not
Understand please

I wasn’t as tan
As this, but the hot
Burning sun I kiss

Day and night on pan
For bliss so ends meet
Covers dark and pale

And bleached me so tight
Giving me these looks
You call; dirty man.

©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Primitive days

I am reincarnated in modern days
But I remember the old folks say
If you have just a swollen troat
Tie a crab on the damn goiter
Then we smeared vultures brain
And sometimes rub human feces
At times seek for the healing touch
Of a breathless little black child…

I do miss drinking from calabash
But I can perfectly remember
I often saw the village boys
Who suffered from leprosy
Drinking concussions made
From the rotting snakes
While those having syphilis
Where made to eat vulture meats.

I remember the elderlies
Would make a ring made of
Human feces over their eyes
Just to cure a blurry vision
Pregnant mothers were told
The rays from eclipsing moon
Could cause the babies to
Be born, deformed or retarded.

Those days were pretty fun
In the yard, white chalks we had
The roofs were made from trees
There was this atmosphere
In our village settlement
As the cock crows, we all woke
Daddy walked in the farms
While mummy prepared breakfast.

©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu
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