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No man owns the great soil we stand
But our bloods are shed on this land
Skulls we count brings hatred to mind
North, South, East and West pick hand.

The golden ball is on your court
Wonder why it is difficult ?
The tender feelings never die
Nostalgia continues to fly.

Brains build an evil monument
One bad thing about sentiment
Is that she writes an alibi
Defending her all actions and

Those of her tribes, sisters, brothers,
Dad and mum, sons and her daughters
Whether they are guilty or not
Exculpation she drops alot.

We all have narratives to share
But do we have to destroy selves
When an atom of peace and love
Would give unity strengthen globe.

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

Nigeria: Atiku’s Cross

What can the Eastern wind do
What can the Rainforest do
When the heats from the North
Are “dying moistures of hope”
Aided by the center tears
And the broom from West
Fervently sweeping droplets
Falling to dust off dark clouds
Fuming the entire green.

Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Nigeria: Tribalism

Tribalism is an identity
Resulting to nepotism
And a great animosity.

Tribalism is an identity
Of no statutory backings
Denting my nationality,

From existing as an entity
Resulting to conflicts
And the death of humanity.

Tribalism is an identity
A scar on nationalism
Degrading our community.

Wild black world

I’m a staunch resident in a wild black world
Where there are three strong facets of lords;
One; a master who will ruthlessly incite wars
Two; the rich man, arrogantly flaying the poor
Three; a poor loyal slave who serves them all.

These slaves are tolerant and like table frames
They diligently labor in hardship to earn a pebble,
They are united in their various individual hustle,
Together against each other they fight a battle,
Surviving the though times of endless struggles.

Obi, Sani and Wale are slaves who are able,
In youthfulness and in old; to engage in a battle…
They are bewitched by the lords of the castle
To die to rottenness, they are the Shepherd’s cattle,
While the master and wealthy; foster a noisy rattle.

Slavery and disunity, the game of throwns incite,
On wet woods, wild fire they love to ignite;
East to west they say; slaves have no brother
North and South, they drop stress for them to ponder;
Now the wild black world is replicating this blunder.

As a resident, I hear them emphasize on regilions;
Hatred becomes a love language for all tribes
We inherent vultures that culture us to gain laurels,
Remaining politically selfish and greedy, whereas;
From space, the world offers no diversity of lifes.

Mayhem In My Family

Do u hear the drums….
“Nkem” my lovely wife
Even Barnabas the priest runs
Sorry we must leave the barns…
Forget the casavas and harvest
Forget the yams and others
Hurry, hurry let’s leave the barns
Forget your “asah-oke” and wrappers
Just gather my daughters
“Anika, Lola and Ada”
Hide my sons “Sani, Femi, and Obi”
Save them from the recruiting arms men
“Nkem” hurry
For the wind is howling
Dust dash like its going to rain
“Chi”, “Oluwa”, “Ala” and God
Guide us
War is not tasty
Neither is it a curry
Yet these men spice-up life with it.

“Obi” my son
I’ve failed to protect you
Cry if you need to
But I can’t be there to dry your tears
“Chi” guides you
All the way
Your feet must now stamp boldness
Unto the dusty lands “Nkem’s” body forever sleeps
During the dry seasons
Hammertan and dire rains
“Grant Biafra its realm…”

“Femi” my son
“Oluwa” will see you through
For I’ve failed to protect you
Talk if you need to
But I can’t control your emotions
You will walk on hills,
Stony valleys and rocks
Fathers you are made to kill
Same sons, mothers
And daughters you rape
Just like they did to your sisters
“Militants, hoodlums and communal crisis”

“Sani” did you set
Fire on holy crosses?
“Obi” my son why vengeance
Now Shira… religious conflict”
Matter of power
“Sani” battles “Femi”
Brothers turn fierce enemies.

The sandy game of power and rule
Set in bombs and Boko Ha’ram…
“Sani, Femi and Obi”
My sons
Call for ambulance….
The green and white gown is blazing

My children never mind
The sandy game of power
Just ordered
State of emergency
Mayhem just increased in our family

“Sani” my son
I’ve failed to protect you
Go for rehab if you need to
I’m not there to call you to order
“Ala” see you through.

With all their snug riffles
And evading blockages
Not to forget
Aimless shooting and shouting
Which brings nothing but soak eyeballs
My three sons sourly soar!!!

Like beetle my sons command on land
Like flying butterfly in air
They spray dragon fire down like rains
Like soldiers which they are
Robot their hearts is mean
Fighting for the nation and self-centred me,
On sandy game of power
Who claim to be too old for battling
Yet young for embezzlement
Guess we all sourly soar!!!

“Anika, Lola and Ada”
May these words not fall on empty ears
Save the green
Ooo Save the white
Mind you the green is double
Share even
For responsibility not dis-unity
For your brothers
the Unknown legends’
Just ghost away in battlefield..
Raise your kinds
To live not in splitting Biafra
Or abide by the river boundaries
Or set sequins for head-shot
My daughters grow your kinds
To live as one.

The True Poesy


  • In its colored Ink, chalk, and voice box, it echoes
    The names that runs after fathers and sons
    Stinging the muscular and vulgar tongue
    Noticed at the rear of identification
  • Drumming hard, it forces my willing mind into palpitating
    Unconsciously my neck swivel and bend
    It forbids my legs at a standstill, but move
    I dance to the true Africa samba
  • Picking the best of all colorful wrappers, cowries, shrines and its endowment
    Whistling and braying sure we know not but heyday
    The vixen roast, the ram smells good, the wine is natural
    The plebeians’ lives in love waggishly forgetting sorrows
  • written by Onyeche Vincent Onyeka

    Sea in storm

    Cheers to my head shaped nation
    Lying on the bed of roses…
    In Lugard’s unification.
    Three tribes wry for the best
    That was; slavery annexation,
    Your fathers and mothers must have smiled.

    Cheer-up, the worst is yet to come
    Not for long, snow skins had to go
    Hearts sees what brain know not
    Green and white Eagles flip flopped a storm
    Men are what their mother made them…
    But, what was her goal?

    Drink on, I tell you the past is a bucket of ashes.
    Eagles meant celebrating with the storm.
    Tribune must have turned, issuing tribulation.
    East now tweets “why not serve in stand and wait”
    West had issues with same power.
    Hold a man down, you have to stay down.

    Drink for that he has is better than ours
    South south wealth and loses
    North masked no joke grenades
    Religion and crises,
    Boko Haram is to them what perfume is to flowers.
    My headshaped nation has a sea in a storm.

    (C) 2012

    written by Onyeche Vincent Onyeka

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