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Sense of duty

I wish I could
Fight for the good
Of civil right
Like activist…

Common jury
My injury
Will make all bleed
Till I am freed.

Stretch out your claws
The rule of law
Is sacrosanct
Stone me to death

I will always sing;
For ever.

But am just a man
Smiling for the fans
Inside deep I cry
But outward I smile

Going against my will
All because of bill
Am compromised
And harmonised

By today’s winners
And tomorrow losers
I wish I could fight
But my hands are tight.

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

Sonnets: Journalist Cross

In magazines and newspapers
Cameras roll, from pins to poles
Information as a notion
Is a tower and for power.

With sensitive smells, fragile bells
The hounds track cities, woods and hoods
Spilling the pens, writing in dens.

Highlighting subjects and objects;
Painting an art, toping the charts
Of the most love, yet hate revolves.

Their tragic fates brings fears and tears
Why reward them with cuffed hands!
In restraint or a quenching breathe
Yes they scam, don’t cause them harm.

©2019 http://Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

The bridled Horse

I am like a bridled horse,
Not just by size nor strength
But by the uncommonness
Called a common sense.

I race for truth without fear
To the finish lines of life
Worrying not of what comes next
Carrying the weight of the world

I unsettle dust, galloping around
Where the wild dogs bark
With salivas that come as flood
Killing togetherness in the honeybees fay.

But diligently on my back,
I run miles and task all day
I know a time shall come
I would be unbridled by the hay.

©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Far from the wild

I am a bird perching walls and Patio grass
I sing sweet songs, pleasant ears, all love to hear
I flap my wings, no fire tongs or tangs of snakes…

The greens I perch but you decided to set a trap
Chewing my toes, it all feels like a cramp
What good is there in trapping me in fancy cages

Feeding me trash of processed meals, knowing so well
That I will not sing to my best or flap freely
In a synthetic habitat far from the wild.

©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Tanka of freedom

Take down the subway.
Remember; the best of things
Are found not searching;
Freedom as seas paves way
Duck no heads while flapping wings.

©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Dead Freedom fighter

As my body lies on its back
And my face looks stale and straight

To the soft wools, inside my nose
Is an open wound, that will not close.

Bred and I grew some blocks away,
On the same soil, is where I lay.

I did fight for the birds to fly
Same birds that perk my body clean.

At my front, is where I was hailed
At my back, the knives I was stabbed.

Above my feet I love to gaze
At tight corners I do not bow…

There is no reason, to retreat
For I knew why I had to fight.

I beg you clean crocodile tears,
All it does is wet the false cheers

I did fight for air to be free
Now I inhale the ghostly peace.

Please save the sweet words on the stone
They are all but lies about me.

©2017, Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Allusion of freedom

I once met a man,
Full of life but,
Wheeled to a chair.

Every step I made
He followed
Pacing with me. 

I walked up to him
And engaged him
On a long talk,
And he never stopped.

He talked passionately
Of how he would walk,
To places he loves
Rolling over the fields.

Kicking stones and balls,
While walking down
To the end
Of the curves of life.

Then he smiled continuesly
Tapping his lap profusely
“My wheelchair does the same”
He mumbled and left. 

Retirees of life

You are free to disagree
Or grow as tall as a tree,

Berries and even a chimpanzee
Coated by Mendelian’s pea.

But as an awardee in Galilee
Wouldn’t you be the assignee

To the sweet loving honeybee
Turning lemonades into tea?

Would you setup a commitee
As a walking encyclopedia for free

To create a coffee of high degree
Imposing eternity, a mighty decree..

Would you make breathe germfree
Knowing that there is no guarantee

For these daily jamboree
Mustn’t be admired by the referee,

In the unending dark comedies
Disturbing storms, sailor’s sea

Life is a job, we are employees
Laboring as prospective retirees.

Don’t Call Me Mad: Liquid in a tube

There it goes
No way right
Down or left.

All it does
Is above rising
Gradually climbing

Like the Sun does
In the morning
For all age.

It may amuse you
The way it moves
But to it, is but in jail

In a narrow tube
Rising above its equals:
A big eye with a little courage
It climbs with wisdom
Hoping to get to the brim

And call for freedom!

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