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Dead men tell lies on May 29th

29th May hurts….!!!
Of what use are boats
If they can not float
Politicians pie
Countless lies on lies.

Lying through the teeth
Out comes the sworn oath
Last lines they recite
The flags are replaced,
Signs of the new race.

Up goes the bullets,
Twenty one loud shots,
Another man to eat
Another zone defaced
To frustrate the new face.

©2019 http://vinzpoetry.WordPress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu


Hey you greedy and silly old bastards
Eating the creamiest of the custards
Soaked in power since the age of hills
Swindling yet claiming to be passing bills
The blood of an entire Nation is in your hands
Keep immortalizing your feet on these sands
Hey you greedy and silly old bastards

©2018 http://Vinzpoetry.WordPress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

My country and land

Are you looking for my homeland
And the magnanimous
Wonders you heard she has?

In a sad brief, tribalism
Has garnished and encroached
Into my native land

Every time I stand on a cliff
I see shadows and shades
From a foreigner’s hand

Though my land remains my country
My country has refused
To harbour my homeland.

©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Nigeria: Parental Blackmail

Family union is now by force
Yet our parents gave birth to us

And we say we are not blood
Tribal, nepotism we then flood

Getting pork from piggery farm
By sacrificing our only arm

Ironically, our dreadful barrier
Isn’t that our parents are Nigerians

But their farm we call politics
Gives us failed system of logic.

©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Blacks town

Unease lies
The head that wears the crown
Our leaders
Just seems to love being clowns
Debts they owe
And sorrows gladly pile up.

There were times,
I was both low and down
I had aches
From thinking of this town
And my eyes
Just kept shedding wet tears

Filling wells
And all cans that can hold
I cry for
Generations unborn
And also
Those that had already come

That sit to
Watch clowns empty their bin
On our yards
While we cheer a sweet song
Clapping hands
As they turn our doors to woods

This our town
Once on high altitude
Is now but
South a huge platitude
With lots of
Flies, wounds, vultures and owls…

gods are dead
In its most fierce revenge
And her shrines
Has turned empty clay and logs
Where ants and
Evil men take as their abodes

I have not
Left this shore of my birth
But the things
I have seen of other folks
Beyond arts
And the overemphases

If not love
For the clans calabash
Maybe I
Shall be called a run away
But there is
Pain, roaming free in the streets.

This black town
Has purportedly push
Its hard luck
I do not understand
Derived from damage locks.

©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com

Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Smart Aleck

The clocks ticks slow but moves so fast
Patience we loose whereas no time

We emulate the flying birds
Creating the planes without feathers

No doubt we are the wise apple
But we are worst than the cattle

We love the riots and disorder
We love the blood of our brothers

We spank and we rape our sisters
Yet we are above the animals

We are smart Aleck the wisest guys
But foolish in using knowledge.

©2017 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Nigeria: Poor black mind

Hope growth is not an hallucination
How did the Whites become diabetic
Economically well structured and nice
Whereas blacks lags; now we auction
Selves, for slavery; legal or illegal
Under the weather of milk and honey.

The internet has become an office
While our gods accepts sacrifices
Kids nowadays cling diabolical ways
Extorting money from folks abroad..
The painful part is, men truly legit
Are but now the riffraff in town…

My country is drying up not because
She fell on the largest of cradle beds
Nor because her leaves and stalks are old
But because she has solely refused
To keep muds far from pigs while trimming leaves
And growing the grey hairs of wisdom.

No metaphor or synedoche can hide
The bad governance these lands have
Hello! are you proud of our sour soups
Yes I am proud to be called an African
Yes I am proud to be called a Nigerian
But I hope my children don’t end up like me.

©2017 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu
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