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Sentimentalism

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

“Gi ka m funanya” (it is you I love)

You are not oven baked;
Yet you are a lovely cake…

Seems you live in my skull;
I see you in sleep and wake…

You are an unread book;
But I know your sweet romance…

My love; ’tis you I love
O’bim; gi ka’m funanya

©2017 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
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.

Ethnicity

  • 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
    The-True-Poesy

    written by Onyeche Vincent Onyeka

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